Diminishment of the Ghost
by iamphantomgirl
Summary: Sequel to A Fleeting Memory. Laure and Nicolas are in Paris, and Erik has retreated to the theater. Will Wife and Son be able to lure him out of hiding, and make him realize he is meant to be with his family?
1. A Look Into the Life of the Privileged

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Christine, I decided, was a few lumps of coal short of a load. As soon as we made it back up to the street, and I had attempted to control the sobs that tore through me, for Nicolas's sake, she had leaned close and whispered in a conspiratorial voice, _"You kissed the Angel."_

I had nodded at her, but didn't say a word.

Nicolas had given me a look, and I had instantly understood that there was much wrong with her.

"Erik..., no, that isn't right is it?" she said softly. "Nicolas? Where are we going? Back to the river?"

"No, Christine. I'm taking you home," he said quietly, placing an arm around my shoulders.

"But...I thought you were going to let me sing," she whispered. "I can't sing at home. I'm so alone."

"Your husband is worried about you," I said sharply. "Don't you think he deserves a little consideration?"

She looked at me a moment, "Raoul?" Her eyes canvassed the street for a moment, looking a little bewildered. "His family doesn't like me. They won't let me sing."

I made a sound of disgust and moved toward the main road. This woman was nothing more than a child! I could hardly blame Erik for being attracted to her...but she was one of those women who would never grow up. I believe the Englishwomen who had this milady simply said they had a _delicate constitution._ I saw it as weakness, but could not pity her.

If she had the strength to remove his mask, she had the strength to mature. The life of a Vicomtesse was surely more suited to her than the grueling hours she would need to survive in the theater. I didn't know how she had lasted as long as she had...but of course, Erik had been there.

Two souls, each damaged in their own way.

_There it was. The connection._

Nicolas had taken the luggage near the entrance, and when I saw Erik's bag, I stopped him.

"That's your father's. It needs to stay," I said sharply.

But when he went to replace it, I stopped him again.

I went to the bag and opened it, and removed a white shirt. I held it to my face for a moment, then placed it inside my own luggage.

"Put it back inside," I whispered, unable to meet his knowing eyes.

He set it in the tunnel and closed the door, then led us to the main street and hailed a carriage. I watched as he paid the driver, and wondered when he had grown up. How had I not noticed my son become a man? He was only fifteen...but he was far advanced for his age.

He was Erik's son, after all. I shouldn't have been surprised.

"Did the Angel hear you sing?" Christine asked me.

"No."

She glanced at Nicolas, "I like you better than him," she said sadly. "He was angry with me. I disappointed him."

"He's my father," he said stiffly. "You shouldn't have removed his mask. I wonder," he paused, "why you didn't remove mine."

"I...I didn't want you to be angry," she whispered. "I thought you would let me stay. To sing."

"Nicolas," I said quietly. "Perhaps we should let the Vicomtesse rest. She has had a difficult day."

He seemed to understand my wish not to hear her speaking again, and Christine seemed to realize that I was very hostile towards her. She didn't say a word until we arrived at the Chagny residence.

It was impressive, to say the least. I hadn't seen such grandeur up close like this, and found myself gawking at the elegance and beauty of the place.

How could she not be happy here?

She had a fine home, a handsome husband who seemed genuinely concerned for her, and a limitless supply of wealth. What was wrong with their life? It seemed so perfect.

When we walked into the parlor, where a distraught, but now immaculate Raoul stood, I heard the most awful screeching noise coming from across the room.

_"What did I tell you! I told you she was nothing but a common whore!"_

I stopped in shock at the sight of the proverbial matriarch of the family, a woman dressed so severely and properly that she defied all sense of maternal characteristics as she reigned upon Raoul with her criticisms of his wife.

This, I take it, was his mother.

Another gentleman, looking a lot like Raoul, was standing to the side, obviously not unaccustomed to this display.

"Mother!" he said sharply. "Leave her alone."

"I will not! She has been missing for days, and she comes in here on the arm of another man...this...ill kept ruffian..."

I exploded.

"Madame! This is my son you are speaking of...and hardly a man, he is still a boy! You will curb your tongue at once!"

Her hard eyes turned to me, such a cold and lifeless blue. Like Raoul's eyes, only with none of the warmth and kindness his held.

"May I ask who you are, to address me in my home?" she asked frostily.

"I am Madame Sagesse. I have returned your son's wife to him. I don't need your shrieking to confirm I have arrived at the proper residence!"

She was saved, and my ears as well, when Raoul cleared his throat hurriedly.

"Mother, Father, if you would excuse us. I would like to speak with Madame Sagesse, and her son."

With a snort, the mother turned her nose in the air and left, looking decidedly lofty and self important. The Father followed, but gave me a brief bow as he passed, then closed the doors behind him.

I released a sigh, and looked around the room, spying Nadir who had been lurking in the corner. As soon as the doors closed he made his way to us, "Erik?" he asked softly.

"He sent us away," I said quietly.

He rolled his eyes, which I thought was quite unlike him, and muttered under his breath.

"Christine," Raoul said softly, going to take her in his arms. "I was very concerned about you. You gave me a fright. Are you okay?"

"Oh, Raoul, I had such a wonderful time!"

My eyes nearly bulged out of my head at her innocent statement. His blue eyes closed, and I could see that he was not surprised to hear this.

"N-Nicolas took me to the river, and I showed him all around Paris! It was such fun, and this morning, we went to see Madame Giry. She was acting very strange, and Nicolas thought she was quite odd."

I slid a glance at Nicolas, and he was grimacing. He had been caught, had he, by someone who knew he was not Erik? What had possessed him to emulate his father?

"You can't go running off like that again, Christine," he said tightly. "You are a Vicomtesse now. You have to behave in a manner befitting a Vicomtesse."

"I'm sorry," she said delicately. "I wanted to see the Angel...but I suppose he wasn't there."

Raoul glanced up at me, and unsure of what to tell him, I shook my head. He nodded, and pressed a kiss to Christine's forehead.

"Go on up and rest, sweetheart. I'll come see you after you've had a chance to relax."

"Thank you, Raoul," she sighed dreamily, and began humming as she left the room.

He ran a hand over his face in frustration.

"She...she is a sensitive creature," he said quietly.

"You should keep your mother away from her," I said, "she cannot handle that sort of stress."

"We're moving to England," he said flatly. "That is why my mother is upset, and perhaps why Christine ran away. She doesn't want to leave Paris. She has been begging me to take her to Erik...and I have refused."

"A wise choice," I murmured.

"Did she see him today?" he asked, lowering his eyes to the floor.

I glanced at Nicolas, "Yes. Perhaps, as a beginning punishment for what he has done, my son should be the one to explain himself to you. I would like to hear his story myself. I think he has only added to her...sensitive nature...and pray that you can forgive him for his behavior."

As if for the first time, Raoul really _looked_ at Nicolas. His eyes widened, his mouth fell slack, and I thought I detected a faint trembling in his hands.

"Monsieur de Chagny," Nicolas mumbled nervously. "I sent a note to your wife. I apologize for contacting her. I wanted to learn more about my father, and it seemed the best way. I had no idea she was...ill. She was quite insistent that she did not want to return here, or I would have brought her back immediately. I'm also sorry...," he paused a moment and slid a guilty glance at me, "...I heard you last night in the mirrored room. I was afraid to release you."

The words dawned on me and Chagny at the same time.

"You little-"

"Nicolas!"

We both stopped, and I silenced whatever he would have called my son with a look. He clenched his fists, and managed to look outraged, although I couldn't quite fear him after seeing Erik's temper.

"You left him inside there?" I demanded. "That was unpardonably cruel of you. Don't you know what that room's purpose is?"

He nodded. "I found the escape latch. I assumed he would too."

"You were trapped in there?" I choked out. "How long?"

"_Maybe_ five minutes," he boasted. "But not quite."

"You are in a lot of trouble, young man," I said sharply. "I would not be so happy if I were you. I have never been so disappointed in you in my entire life."

The smile slid form his face, and he turned solemnly back to Raoul.

"I'm sorry, sir. I honestly meant no harm."

"What...what did you do with my wife?" he asked hoarsely. "Did you...?"

"No!" Nicolas said forcefully.

"Nicolas, tell the Vicomte about your clever ruse. Tell him how you tricked Christine."

Nicolas flushed, but faced him and said calmly, "I pretended that I was my father. I didn't think she would believe me...but she did, and I didn't have the heart to tell the truth. She was so trusting. I...I felt like I should have protected her...but I let her believe that I was her Angel," he let out a huge breath. "It makes no sense, I know. But Erik is my father, and I love him. I just didn't understand him."

"Christine_ is_ trusting," he replied wearily. "She inspires most men to want to protect her, including Erik. She's completely naïve...almost in a dreamlike state most of the time. So detached. But forgive me, I shouldn't tell you these things about my wife. I love her. I have always loved her, but I have been forced to realize that she is going to require greater care than most women. I...I don't blame your father for what he did. I saw...I saw how much pain he was in, and I forgive him for being what he is, for loving her the only way he knew how. I could see today that he has changed...very much...and I hope he can find happiness."

"Thank you," I whispered tightly. "So do I."

Ultimately, it was up to Erik whether or not he wished to be happy. I wondered if he knew that happiness was with us.

I thought about that long and hard as Nadir escorted us to his apartment. I thought about what I could do to bring Erik to his knees, and make him realize his pride was far better cast aside than being in the way of what could be the redemption that he so desperately needed.

I wondered what lengths I would have to go to, to make him understand that he would never be free of me.


	2. The Extent of True Feeling

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

"Monsieur Khan?" Nicolas said quietly, going to stand beside Nadir.

We had arrived at his apartment, surprisingly small and dark for someone who once had a palace in Mazanderan. I suppose once he was exiled, they hadn't allowed him to keep any of his fortune. Darius, his servant, who I had never met before, stood in the shadows of the room, waiting for a command from Nadir.

"Yes, Nicolas?" Nadir asked, removing his cloak and handing it to Darius who had immediately arrived at his side to take it.

"I'm sorry for hitting you," he said, and glanced at me.

"You _hit_ him, Nicolas?" I asked in shock. "What has possessed you? Have you gone daft? Apologize at once!"

"I just did," he said slowly, but turned to Nadir. "I am sorry, Monsieur Khan. I realize you were trying to protect me, but I was very upset when I arrived."

"No excuses, Nicolas," I warned him. "No matter how upset you are, it does not give you license to strike another person. Especially a friend of our family. It is time you realized that Nadir is such. He is to be treated with respect. He saved your father's life, and aided in mine as well," I looked at Nadir, "I am sorry you have been ran through the mud along with us, Nadir. I know you must tire of our drama."

"I am content, Laure. May I ask what you're going to do about Erik? Should I go visit him?"

"No. He said he wants to be alone, so I am going to give him what he wants, for now. However, I am thinking of purchasing a house here in town. Do you know what kind of home Erik would like? I really don't know anything about Paris. I think something on the outer portion of town would suit him."

"There is someone who could help you, if he is willing. Erik's former assistant..."

"The one with the ignorant wife?" I scoffed. "I hardly think he would be appropriate."

"Jules was loyal to Erik, even if his wife was foolish. I think he would help you. He was a mason before he met Erik, and I believe he still lives and works here in Paris," he said. "I could get you his address. I don't think he'll have a problem working for you, considering the ridiculous amount of money Erik gave him."

"Indeed," I snorted. "He should have been happy...his wife should have been thrilled to have her husband making so much money...no matter who his boss was."

"What are we going to do about the house?" Nicolas asked suddenly. "Where are all our things?"

"On the cutter, docked in Marseilles," I said, then hesitated, "we were going to leave Corsica anyway, Nicolas, long before we ever knew you had ran away. Your father had to fight four men on the island. I think its one of many reasons he wants to be alone right now."

"Did he...?" Nadir asked quietly.

"No."

"I am glad of that, at least," Nadir said quietly. "I would offer you a room here, Laure, but I live on a modest income and do not have sufficient room. I will gladly escort you to any hotel you desire, and pay for it of course."

"Thank you, Nadir, but Erik gave me nearly all of his money. I intend to put it to good use. He doesn't seem to care if he has it, one way or another," I said wryly.

"He has always been careless with his income. Yet, he has never lacked for anything. I admire his...skill for producing money out of nothing."

"Nadir...I will need someone to arrange transport of the things on the cutter. I wondered if you might be willing...I will pay you of course, to travel to Marseilles. Or perhaps you would rather send your servant? I will pay him as well," I said slowly.

"Darius would be more than capable of traveling," he assured me. "I will send him today, if it pleases you."

"It would," I murmured. "Thank you. And while Darius is gone, Nicolas can take over his role. A suitable punishment, is it not?" I smiled at Nicolas, who was already looking pained. "Trust me, son, this is only the beginning. You have much to be sorry for."

-------------------------

The Hotel Auburn was truly not the most elegant hotel in the city, and our room _merely_ overlooked the Champs-Elysees. Truly, not elegant, indeed!

But it was beautiful, and comfortable, and Nicolas delighted in the view of the city. He was going to be spending his nights with me, but in the day time it was arranged for Nadir to pick him up and accompany him wherever he needed to go. He would be allowed to visit Erik in three days. I figured that gave Erik enough time to be _alone,_ and give Nicolas enough time to think of what he would say to him.

I finished dinner with him, and indicated that he was to wait for me in the sitting room. I would have my own truth tonight, before he was able to think of more _excuses._

I let him sit there for fifteen minutes before I ever entered the room. I realized I had taken the role of my father, and was playing the waiting game with him, but since Erik was disinclined to punish him, for now it fell on me. I knew who was going to be the disciplinary figure in this marriage. Erik would love the extra attention it gave him, because after my father would punish me, I would cling to my mother for days while I licked my wounds.

His head was lowered as I sat down next to him. His hands fisted at his sides, looking more like a boy now, than a man. He was constantly confusing me with this altering of personalities. This child-man image was going to drive me insane.

"Can you tell me why you ran, Nicolas? Why didn't you come back to Corsica? At the very least you could have told your grandfather what you were doing."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I saw the paper...it was lying on a desk in the hotel we were staying at. I remembered he told me he had never harmed a woman...and I felt so angry with him. I felt angry that he had ever met Christine. I knew about her before...but when I read that paper...," he looked at me, and I saw a glimmer of tears in his eyes. "I hated her. I wanted to meet her. But I hated her."

"You cannot blame Christine," I said, feeling like a hypocrite. My own feelings aside, she had never tried to make Erik do the things he had done. She had been a frightened little girl. I still wouldn't forgive her for taking his mask, though.

"I was jealous of her, before," he said softly. "When I read Nadir's letter...I was _very_ jealous, because I wanted him with us. But she was keeping him away."

"No, Nicolas. _I_ kept him away. I didn't think he was suitable for you. But I do know how you felt, because I was jealous of her too."

"You were?" he asked, giving me a startled look. "Why?"

"Because I loved him, and I wanted him with us to."

He looked away from me, and my heart broke as I saw tears slip down his cheeks. It was painful to look at him and not remember what Erik looked like crying.

It was horrendous to look at Nicolas crying, because he so seldom did it. He never gave in to tears.

Never.

I scooted closer to him, and put my arms around him. For a moment he pulled away, but I caressed his hair, and his back, and he finally lowered his head to my shoulder and cried silently.

"I was so mad," he whispered. "I thought...when he came to the island, I thought he had given her up, for us! _For me, Mama!_ I thought _he_ left_ her_, for_ us_!"

"Oh, Nicolas," I choked out. "He would have, if he had known. He would have, and he told me so. It's my fault, not his. It's never been his fault that you grew up without him."

"I believed he left Christine, and came to us, and that he was happy with his decision. Then I saw that paper," he shuddered for a moment, and I pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I saw that paper, and realized what he had done...and that he didn't leave her for us. She wasn't even around anymore. I hated her, Mama. I hated her so much."

"Shh," I whispered, "don't hate anyone Nicolas. It is far too time consuming, and takes away so much energy. You are far too sweet to ever hate anyone."

He finally put his arms around me and allowed me to hold him completely, even if he couldn't crawl into my lap like he had as a boy. I hadn't even had my arms around him in this manner for years. Far too many years, for a mother to hold her son.

He had pulled away from me, from all of us, and I had never understood why. Even then he had been hurting over Erik. Even then he had wanted his father, and I had just assumed his standoffish attitude was a normal part of growing up. I didn't have many years left with him, and I would forever cherish the ones I had...but I didn't want my boy to grow up. I wanted to keep him with me forever.

"I love you, Mama," he said softly.

I _loved_ it when he called me that. He seldom did it, and it was like music each time.

Like heaven, like rain.

I loved it.

"I love you, Nic," I whispered. "Don't ever run from us again. We're your family. You're supposed to come to us with your problems. Not push us away," I sat up to look at him, "your father never had anyone to show him what being a family was about. Thats why he's alone tonight, and we're here together. Isn't this much nicer? Doesn't this feel better?"

"Yes," he sighed, and put his head back on my shoulder. "It does. I wish he was here, Mama."

My heart constricted inside my chest, and I felt the tears escape my eyes at last.

"So do I, Nic. So do I."


	3. In the Shadows, a Man Does Not Live

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

Sleep was not going to be an ally of mine. I was to remain awake the entire night, and relive my decision, and reflect on my mistake.

I was alone, at last.

I was miserable, again.

What made me decide to let her go, once I had realized my error? Pride?

Yes, that was it. My foolish pride.

I hated admitting when I was wrong. And I did want this...but I didn't want it either. I had been to a wonderful, exhilarating place with Laure. That place most people call heaven, and rarely see.

It exists, even if we can't see it.

And perhaps it isn't always after we die that we go there. Maybe we can live, and feel, and breathe, and still have that chance.

I had been there.

Now, I was back in Hell.

When I finally emerged from my home, after sitting in my chair all night, I was irritated. Very irritated. I had shuddered when I thought about sleeping in the coffin, and had never been able to bring myself to sleep in my mother's bed. So I had the chair.

I was misery personified, and had decided that the only thing I could do, for the moment, was seek comfort, and perhaps a conversation with the woman who I had made homeless.

Madame Giry.

It was relatively easy to find her residence. She had kept one outside of the theater, but it had been unused until the fire. The small house was rather shabby, and seemed to be leaning slightly to one side. I knocked on her door, and kept my right side to the street as the door opened.

Christ.

It was Meg.

She looked warily out at me, "Monsieur," she whispered.

"Hello, Mademoiselle Giry. Is your mother in?"

"Of course. Please, come in."

I had met her but once, and it had not been a very pleasant encounter. I had been waiting in her mother's room for her to return, and Meg had barged in, upset over one of the other dancers. She had cried out in fright, and I had covered her scream with my hand quickly.

When she bit me, I had laughed, and told her not to be so spirited, and that if lecherous notions were on my mind, I wouldn't mess with Madame Giry's daughter on any account.

Madame Giry had smoothed things over with her, but from then on, I stayed out of Madame's room.

"Mother?" she called, and closed the door behind her. She gave me another look, then called in a tense voice, louder, "Mother!"

"Meg, I am not deaf. Lower your voice in this house!" I heard from upstairs.

I looked up to see her moving down, slowly, her ever present cane and black dress a welcoming sight. I had always been fond of Madame Giry, although I would never allow her to know it.

"Erik?" she asked, stopping when she saw me. "Two _visits_ in as many days. I couldn't be more surprised."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, then stopped. "Ah, you must have met my little doppelganger."

She hesitated a moment, unsure if I was upset by the revelation that someone had been pretending to be me.

"Its quite alright," I said gently. "I know what he's been up to," I held my hand out to her. "Come, we have much to discuss."

--------------------------

"Your son?" she repeated. "_Your_ son, Erik?"

"Mine, and no one else's," I said mildly.

I had explained, in brief sentences, who he was, and how I had found out about him. Apparently Nicolas had been by with Christine yesterday, and the two Giry's did not know what to make of him.

"He was _friendly_," she said with shock, then blushed. "I mean no disrespect, Erik."

"None taken."

"He...well...he looks like you. I could tell why Christine had believed him, but it was obvious he was not you. Very young, and his eyes...were..."

"Hazel? Kind?" I supplied. "Yes, he is everything that I am not. He doesn't need a mask by the way," I said quietly. "Wearing it was intentional."

"How have you been?" she finally asked, and I saw the compassion in her eyes.

She was not always like this with me. Not always, but sometimes, she could be...nice. I could almost consider myself as indebted to her, as I was to Nadir. She provided me with many, many comforts, and I helped her and Meg along the way.

"I've been better," I muttered. "But I have been worse."

She nodded, "You are living at...home?"

"Yes."

She opened her mouth, as if to say something, then changed her mind. I didn't ask what she had meant, and with Meg peering at me constantly from across the room, I really didn't want to know.

"Were you able to find employment, Madame Giry? You and Meg both?"

"Yes," she said brightly. "We're working at the Comique. Not as grand, and the performances aren't as regular, but I do think it is a wonderful theater."

"Are they paying you well?"

"Ah...well, my income was always supported you know, albeit mysteriously. I don't have that luxury any longer, but I am comfortable."

"I will be glad to make it more comfortable," I offered.

"No, Erik," she said firmly. "I don't need any more money."

"I am sorry I destroyed the theater," I said softly. "I am sorry you lost your home, and had to find employment elsewhere. But if you ever do need anything, find me, and I will be glad to assist you. If you'd like this house redone, razed, and rebuilt, I can do it. If you'd like a newer one, I will do it."

Her eyes had lit up for a brief second, then I saw Meg closing ranks on her.

"We are comfortable, monsieur," she said quietly from across the room.

I met her eyes for a moment, and nodded.

I bowed to both of them, and excused myself, knowing I had come close to offending Little Giry, even if her mother had considered my offer. The last thing I needed was Meg telling the gendarmes to take away the wealthy ghost still living in the theater.

That was one apology made, I thought with a sigh.

There was one more. One that I wasn't certain I should even make, but I would, for the sake of my own peace of mind. I did feel contrite, and I knew that I probably needed to do it, but I was not altogether happy about it.

I should swallow my own tongue, rather than apologize to Christine.

I lay on the cold floor, on top of a thick Persian rug, but still nonetheless freezing, and I thought about Laure. Had I really thought I would be content with the _memory_ of her arms around me? I was already aching for her. She was probably miles away from Paris by now. She probably decided that heading back to Corsica was best, even if she didn't want to go. No doubt her parents would embrace her, and tell her that everything would be fine. Nicolas would soon be back on the docks, finishing the _Donegal_, then perhaps the entire family would be moving to Cherbourg to settle. Maybe they'd take the cutter, and sail it around the coast of Spain, then up to Cherbourg. I dreaded that thought. If they did that, it would be months before I ever saw them again.

I still had time to go after them. But I couldn't return to Corsica. Not now.

Not after the stress and humiliation of my last days there.

Maybe it would be better if I waited, and let them have time to forget some of the things they had seen here.

I still couldn't bring myself to cry.

Crying would mean that it was over.

And I _would not cry. _I would _not._


	4. A Little Comfort

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

It was not, I decided, the previous evening's fare that had made me so violently ill that I was late for my meeting with Jules Bernard. It was not the stress I had been under.

Staying awake all night, missing the warmth of my husband, had not made me sick.

Yes, I realized, I _was_ pregnant.

I was going to have to work very fast, indeed. I didn't want Erik returning to us for _that. _I wanted him with me, because I was trying very hard to be selfish for once.

I wanted him...to want to be with _me._

No qualms, no hesitation, no doubts.

I wanted Erik to want _me._

Not our child, not even Nicolas.

If he was to return, I wanted it to be because of me.

Was that so very wrong?

My first impression of Jules Bernard was that he was an intelligent enough man, although I couldn't quite imagine him as being anything other than meek and mild, to be railroaded by his wife the way he had been.

"You do realize, Madame Sagesse, that Erik may not want you to retain my services?"

"I do not care what Erik wants. I'm his wife. He has entrusted his money to me. All I'm asking you to do, is find me a house. Any house, as long as it is something you know Erik would approve of. I'm sure you have not forgotten what he likes," I said softly, trying very hard not to move and make myself ill again.

I had already been offered some sort of fruit tart, and had nearly embarrassed myself in front of the man. I wanted to get out of here.

Nadir had told me I could trust this man, and the way my stomach was reeling, I wanted to toss him the money and leave. Of course, first I'd had to sort through it with him.

Imagine my surprise, when I was handed the bulk of Erik's wealth, and discovered not only actual money, but jewelry, bonds, all banking information, and numerous raw, uncut diamonds and rubies. Among other things.

I had no idea how much money he actually had, but Nadir had told me that Jules could manage it for me, and that Erik had trusted him fully. He had never stolen from him.

That was good enough for me.

I was too ill to care.

"I have one house in mind already. I built it, actually," he said humbly. "I think it is something Erik would like. I learned much from him when I first started working for him."

"When he was an architect?" I asked, "Before he came to live here?"

"Yes, Madame. Your husband...he is very, very intelligent. His designs...I had never considered some of the things that he put on paper. Maybe I'm being too hopeful that he will actually like the house, but I would feel honored to have him live there. He is still unparalleled in the world of architecture."

I hesitated a moment, "How difficult would it be for him to begin again? What would he need?"

"Drafting tools, of course, if he no longer has them. Contacts mostly, which I fear he does not have. He didn't need them before. His service was unusual, in that he designed and built the house. People paid very good money to have his name attached to it. In a very short time, he was a success," he said heartily. "Erik would have no difficulties starting again, with the right man working under him."

"Are you volunteering?"

He looked sheepish, "I'm afraid not, Madame. I have my own business now. Thanks to Erik. If I had not learned so much from him, I would not be doing what I am today. He funded my business, and provided me with all the skill necessary to run it. I am indebted to him, but I will not work for him again."

"Do you know anyone who _would_ be qualified?"

"Is he going to begin working again?" he asked hopefully, "I'm going to have some competition, am I?"

"If I have my way, then yes, I suppose you will."

"I'll talk with a couple of young men I know. I'll explain to them the enormous opportunity...and the...the uniqueness that is Erik," he said gently. I knew he was not insulting him. I could tell he was actually still in awe of him.

"If you don't mind, very much, Monsieur Bernard, I am feeling unwell, and would like to leave this with you," I indicated the odd assortment of valuables before us. "I trust you, because Erik trusted you. You seem like an honest man."

"Thank you, Madame. I will do what I can with this, but...might I suggest...?"

He took the rough gemstones and diamonds and gave them back to me.

"Erik acquired these in Persia. I think you should keep them."

"Oh," I said softly, holding them in my hands.

They glittered beautifully in the light, and I felt breathless merely holding them. These were the ones he stole from the shah. I couldn't bring myself to feel angry at him. Instead, I felt greatly amused.

"I'll keep them," I promised, and tied them in a linen kerchief before tucking them in my reticule. "I really must be going, but when you are free, I would like to see the house."

"Would tomorrow be too soon?" he asked, rising to escort me to the door of his office.

"_Late_ tomorrow," I amended. "Perhaps around one o'clock?"

"I'll come by your hotel then. One o'clock it is."

---------------------

Nicolas came in with Nadir that afternoon, looking carefree and happy, and not at all like he was resentful of his punishment.

"You enjoy yourself?" I asked casually, giving Nadir a pointed look.

He tried to hide a smile, but it was difficult.

I had not even noticed his bruises until this morning. Men! Nicolas had hit him, and he was treating him with kindness and respect.

I don't think I could have been so forgiving. The only person who had ever struck my face was the khanum, and I would never forgive her.

I took Nicolas's coat, and gasped when my hands touched his freezing ones. I had been chilled today, but after noon it had gotten very cold. I realized suddenly we were into November.

Erik's home was already freezing. I wondered if he had adequate warmth. I knew he had been living there for years, but the thought of him being so cold...and alone, in the darkness, sent fresh tears springing into my eyes.

"Mother?" Nicolas asked with concern.

"I'm fine," I said briskly. "Nicolas, did you spend the night in your father's house?"

"Yes," he said, looking confused. "Why?"

"Was it...very warm?"

"No," he said softly. "It was freezing. And he didn't seem to have any blankets."

We stared at each other a moment, absorbing the knowledge that Erik was probably very uncomfortable.

"Let's go shopping, Nicolas."

He took his coat, and I grabbed mine as well, pulling it tightly around me. I felt better than I had earlier, but was still slightly weak from all the nausea.

Nadir led us down the avenue, and I went into several stores before I found the heaviest, warmest looking coverlet I could find. It was enormous, and would most likely swallow him whole, but I didn't care. Him being down there again was tearing me apart. I wanted him with me...not there. He could have stayed with me last night, so I didn't have to toss and turn all night, never sleeping, and more frustrated than I had been in a long time. I wanted my husband with me.

And he wanted to be alone.

At least for now I could offer him a little comfort.


	5. The Waiting Man

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

There was nothing to do, and nowhere to go. Haunting the theater was no longer appealing. There was no one there to bother, and I didn't feel the urge to do it anyway. No one was there to witness my pranks. No one was there to scream at me as I did some horrendous thing to shock everyone.

They were all gone.

How ironic.

I was still a ghost, and there was no one left for me to frighten.

They were all gone. They had gone on to a more industrious life. Or not, depending on who it was, but they were better off than me in any case.

Earlier that day I had foolishly ventured out into the water, hefting the coffin into it, then weighing it down carefully with stones until it sank beneath the frigid water in a inconspicuous corner of the lake. I didn't want Nicolas to see it again, even if he already had. I also put everything inside of it that I didn't want them to see, including the score for my opera. It would always be in my mind. No one else ever needed to see it.

I moved my chair and pallet closer to the hearth, but had to constantly turn one way or the other to warm the side of my body that would freeze if not facing the fire. The stone was hard against my back, and I found myself wishing for the strong and capable hands of my wife, to soothe away my aching muscles. I found myself longing for her body, day and night, and wishing she had forcefully yanked me with her to whatever destination she sought.

I wished I had a bowl of her mother's soup, and a scalding cup of coffee, or tea, or anything, as long as it was_ hot. _There was actually quite a draft that could cut across the lake, and I was tempted to hide out in the dressing rooms upstairs, if merely to be in an actual bed.

I was still considering it when Nadir came through the empty mirror frame, holding something in his arms.

He grunted as he stumbled inside, tripping over a footstool he hadn't seen because of the bulk he was carrying. He finally tossed it my direction, and I caught the soft fabric, then looked at him sharply.

"What is this?" I demanded.

"Its a blanket," he returned evenly.

"Doubtless," I said arctically, "you will explain why _you_ have brought me a blanket."

"Your _wife _asked me to bring it by," he said quietly.

Laure? She was here? Still in Paris? I sat forward suddenly and pulled it to me, stroking the softness of it, feeling the luxurious and heavy blanket as if it were a great prize. Which it was.

"They're still here?" I asked numbly.

"Yes. They have a room at the Hotel Auburn, room five-twelve. You should stop by and see them soon."

I looked at him, too dazed to speak. They were here? So close by, and I was not with them. The pain of it was unreal. I felt as if I couldn't breath, and when I did, I noticed the white steam that came out of my mouth. They were warm, together. I was cold, and alone.

"Why haven't they gone back?" I whispered.

"She is thinking of buying a house here. I believe she has an appointment tomorrow with someone, to go look."

"_What? _Buying a house in Paris? Not Cherbourg?" I nearly shouted at him. What was she thinking? Nicolas was going to be leaving in a couple of years. She would want to be near her parents...near Nicolas. Why would she buy a house?

"I sent Darius to retrieve their belongings from Marseilles. He's going to instruct the crew there to return to Corsica. Laure sent her parents a letter, but I'm not sure what it says."

I stood up and began to pace, my hands clenching in frustration. In anger.

Why had she stayed here?

I could have dealt with her being miles and miles away. But the Auburn Hotel was too close. I could be there within ten minutes. So close.

"Nicolas wants to know if he may visit you. Laure said she thought he should wait another day, but he is really eager to speak with you."

"He is welcome anytime," I said quickly.

_Laure._

I had not spoken her name in two days. It was torture. I had not seen her, I had not held her. I dreamed of kissing her.

But I had not been invited to the hotel, and she said she would not come here. Were we to have a standoff then? I vowed to pry as much out of Nicolas as I could.

After a few more attempts to speak with me, Nadir left. I could tell he was annoyed by my insistence to stay here, but I was not sure if Laure would welcome me, after what I had done.

_It ends when you want it to._

_I'm not letting you go._

_I love you. I promise it will be worth it._

Once again, it was her voice that haunted me. I had not been so discomfited by the memory of a voice since I had left Persia. And it was hers that haunted me. Her words, her careful and sweet way of speaking, of making me feel both in control, and powerless. Of making me feel important, and worth something.

I turned my attention to the blanket. It was new, a dark blue color, with a brocade lining of fleur de lis. I sank onto my makeshift pallet, and wrapped it completely around me, burrowing into the huge depths of it. It was made for a king size bed. It was made...for two people.

She had bought it for _me,_ I thought with wonder.

It was new...and she had bought it for me.

The first gift from my _wife._

From Laure, to me.

For the first time since I had returned...I felt...warm.

-------------------------------

I woke up to hear a shuffling sound, then a thump. I looked up in time to see Nicolas springing back to his feet. He had dropped through the trap where the torture chamber had been. That was the second time he had done it, and I realized that he must have been inside at some point, to be so comfortable doing it.

He looked around for a moment, then saw me lying on the floor near the fire.

"Were you trapped inside there, Nicolas?" I asked nervously, struggling to get to my feet.

"For a couple of minutes," he said carefully. "I found the release fairly easy."

"You do realize, you are the first person to find it?"

"I didn't look at it as a prisoner. I looked at it as a designer. But I've never seen anything so...odd," he said, lowering his eyes to the floor. "Has anyone ever died in it?"

"No. Not in this one. I've built one other one like it," I said cautiously.

"In Persia? For the khanum?" he asked, glancing at me a moment, then away.

"Yes."

I waited for him to ask about it, but he didn't. He moved over to the fire for a moment, and stared into the flames. I could see a growing hesitation on his face, his mouth tightening, then relaxing. His eyes sliding to me, then away.

"I've decided something, father."

"Yes, Nicolas?" I whispered, sinking into my chair, and pulling the blanket across my legs.

"I don't want to know about anything else that happened in Persia. I don't _need_ to know anything," he said, then finally looked at me. "I know enough. I think...," he hesitated a moment, "...I think that the khanum made you do things you didn't want to do. She made you build that...that room, and people died in it. Mother had to watch. I think that you've both seen enough, and discussed it enough. So, I don't want to know anything else. I don't need every detail."

I turned my face away, bewildered by the maturity in his voice, and the compassionate words. How was I ever going to reconcile that he was a boy, when he constantly proved he was a man?

"Thank you, Nicolas," I said softly. "Is there anything else you want to know?"

He sat down next to my feet, and looked up at me.

"Why don't you tell me about when you were younger?"


	6. A Misunderstanding of Minds

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

It was indeed something that would appeal to him. Dark, gray stone, and black slate roof...enormous twin towers on each end, with black spires reaching into the sky. The entire place was enormous. I think it was more magnificent than the de Chagny estate we had been to the other day.

"Are you sure I would need something so large?" I asked, staring up at the massive oak doors that seemed to be as ancient as time. Hadn't he said _he_ built this? It looked as if it had been here for a century, if not longer.

"Of course not, Madame. I just wanted to show it to you. Its the first thing that came to mind. I apologize...I probably seem like I'm trying to make myself seem like something of a genius, to assume merely because I built it that you would like it. But I did think Erik would like this."

"He would like it," I said. "_I_ like it. Its just so very...large."

But you could fill it with children...a voice whispered inside me.

"How many bedrooms does it have?"

"Twelve, Madame. As many bathrooms upstairs...below, there are more. A kitchen, large enough for any woman to cook in, two studies, a library, and several other rooms that could be used for parlors, sitting rooms...whatever else you desire," he said, waving his hand across the estate. "There are eighty acres that come along with it. The lawns have been maintained, and there is still a castellan managing the estate. His name is Thomas Hurnard. He's getting on in years now, but he is capable of running the place."

"Why is it vacant?" I asked, looking at the endless forest that surrounded us. There had also been mention of a lake, somewhere.

"Debts. The people who bought it had to sell out because of enormous gambling debts. Very quiet transaction. This place hasn't even been listed, because they were frightened of a scandal. But I will offer it to you."

"Show me the inside," I said, trying to suppress a sigh. I couldn't possibly buy this place. It was too large. Why would I need something so enormous?

But as we kept going, and I saw the beauty of the place...I could picture myself here. I wouldn't change a thing. It was elegant, simple, and lovely.

I could picture _Erik _here.

There was an almost medieval look to certain rooms...an ancient and quiet atmosphere that wrapped you up, and made you want to sit down and merely enjoy the peace.

That was its appeal...it was_ peaceful._

It was made for him. Made for us.

The first study he showed me, looking out over the grounds, with enormous amounts of light poring in was nice. The second one...I decided that _if_ I bought it...was perfect for Erik. He could use the first one to work in...and this one...would be his retreat. For him to brood and be alone, whenever he desired. If he needed solitude occasionally, this would be perfect.

I found my space as well, in a small ballroom upstairs. Like I would ever have need of a ballroom! But I could paint here! Windows...all around. Beauty, everywhere. This would be perfect.

There was also a music room. Everything we would need.

I was falling in love with it.

He named his price, and I cringed, but he assured me that it was barely a dent in the money I had given him.

"Besides," he shrugged, "if he's planning on working again, he won't need to worry about wealth again. I talked to a young man last night who said he'd be interested in working with him. I showed him some of Erik's old house plans. He was amazed at them."

"Would he be...easy for Erik to get along with?"

"I think so. That is for Erik to decide. But Erik has such a temper. He was never cruel...," he closed his eyes a moment, "...but God, do I remember that temper!"

"Yes," I murmured. "There is his temper. It will be up to Erik, then. If I can persuade him to come live here with me."

He gave me a strange look, but nodded.

I suppose he thought we were both staying at the Hotel Auburn. He must have realized that with me doing all these things...I was doing them without Erik's consent, or his approval.

"I'll...I'll take it," I said suddenly. "How soon can it be signed over?"

From his coat he produced a piece of paper.

"As fast as you can sign, Madame."

It was mine! Ours!

I grinned...and grinned, and smiled some more.

It was the first time in my life I had ever done something so independent. I felt a little nervous, wondering what Erik would think. What he would say? But for now, I smiled.

I had bought a train ticket days ago...and now...I bought a house!

I was amazed he had let me do it. Jules Bernard, that is. Most women weren't allowed to go about buying things like this. But he had let me, because he knew that my situation was unique.

The exhilaration was uplifting...it was astronomical. I was laughing to myself as I opened the door to the hotel.

I stopped laughing, however, when I saw who was seated in the chair inside the sitting room.

Erik.

He stood up abruptly, and looked over to Nicolas, then back at me. His eyes traveled slowly down my body before meeting my eyes. I felt merely warm from him looking at me.

Why was he here?

Dare I hope, it was to stay?

I felt a little nervous then, because I would have to tell him I bought a house.

Without his approval, I had _bought_ a house!

"Where have you been?" he asked quietly.

I drew my head back a moment, startled at his question.

"Shopping," I said evasively.

He glanced down at my empty hands, and I held them up, smiling a little.

"It was too big to carry. It will be..._delivered_ later."

I moved closer to him...closer, until I could see his eyes clearly. Until I could see them widen as I leaned up to kiss his cheek.

"I missed you," I said softly.

He inhaled sharply, and his eyes closed.

"Why?"

I smiled, "Do you really have to ask, Erik?"

"Laure," he whispered my name like a prayer.

"I bought a house," I blurted out. "A _big_ house."

His brow lifted, "Bought? Really? How big?"

"Enormous."

He glanced at Nicolas for a moment, and indicated that he would like to talk with me alone.

"Why did you _buy_ a house here?" he asked once Nicolas left. "Why not Cherbourg?"

I shrugged, "Why not Paris? It isn't far from Cherbourg, if that is where Papa wants to live," I paused and looked away, "besides. You can afford more houses, if we need them. You don't seem to care one way or the other."

His eyes narrowed, "I don't want to be beggared, Laure. I expected you to manage that money properly. It will last for a long time, as long as we aren't frivolous."

My euphoric state vanished. He didn't think I was capable of making such an important investment.

"There is still enough left," I said quietly. "I think I made a good deal. I liked it, and I wanted it, so I bought it."

"I never thought you were going to be expensive," he said softly.

Was he kidding? I thought I detected humor in his tone, if not his eyes. But it vanished, and he sighed heavily.

"Where is it?"

I hesitated a moment, "In Paris. Well, actually, just outside of it. But still very close to the city. There is some land with it. It even has a castellan."

"You bought...an _estate? _An estate, Laure?" he stepped away from me and ran his hand through his hair. "Why?"

"I...I thought it was beautiful. I want to live there. I wasn't going to buy it...not at first, but when he showed me the inside...I fell in love with it."

"We aren't members of nobility. Why would we need something-"

He broke off, and looked away.

"_You._ Why would _you_ need something like that?"

I felt my throat tighten at his correction. He hadn't included himself there with me. He was still not sure, then? He still didn't know what he wanted?

I steeled myself against the hurt...and the urge to press my hand across my stomach and shout to him that I was pregnant.

"I wanted it. So I bought it," I said simply, and as carelessly as I could manage. "Thank you for allowing me access to your...considerable wealth."

_'Have the courage!_' I wanted to scream at him._ 'Have the courage to stay with me!'_

Instead, I said, "I'm tired. I want to lie down. I'll tell Nicolas he may go with you if he wants."

Erik lowered his eyes to the floor at my dismissal, and nodded. I hadn't meant to make it sound as if I wanted him to leave. I really hadn't. But his words had hurt just as much...and I was beginning to feel dizzy from all the moving around I had done today. He didn't try to stop me as I crossed the room and shut myself in the adjoining room where Nicolas was sitting.

"Well? Did he like it?" he asked, rising.

"I'm afraid not, Nic. He did not approve of it. So, when Darius returns, hopefully tomorrow, I will need your strong back to lift everything. If you want to go with him, you may, but be back so you can rest good tonight."

"He slept with the blanket last night," he said softly. "He asked about you today. I invited him here, because I thought he wanted to see you. He seemed really anxious to come here."

"I know, Nicolas. He just...maybe he needs more time. Don't pressure him, okay? I don't want him to be forced into staying with me, if it isn't really what he wants. He's been alone for a long time."

He glanced up at the door for a moment, then pulled me farther down the hall, and into my room.

"He told me about his childhood today," he whispered, his chin quivering for a moment. "Mama, they did him so _wrong_. _All _of them."

"I know, son. I know," I replied, feeling tears again.

Had I ever stopped crying last time I had been pregnant? It didn't seem like it, and this time didn't appear much different. How far along was I? I tried to think...and realized I had not cycled since well before the wedding. So...it could very well have happened the wedding night. It would explain why I was just now beginning to feel sick. Any later, and I wouldn't be feeling sick yet.

"Go out there with him...he...he needs someone with him. I don't want him to be alone," I said, closing my eyes to stop my tears.

"He wants me to go to the Chagny residence with him," he said quietly.

"_Why?" _

"He says he needs to talk to Christine."


	7. The Angel Inside Me

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

She _bought_ a house. Nadir said...she was_ thinking _of buying a house. I really wasn't bothered by it. I was _annoyed_ that she had done it without asking me...but it wasn't until I considered that she might not want me to live there that I felt anger.

She hadn't consulted me.

Laure didn't tell me where it was.

And she did not ask if I wanted to see it.

Nicolas struggled to keep up with my brisk pace through the streets, and without realizing it, I headed away from the theater. I didn't really want to go back. Being inside their warm room...and Nicolas had been kind enough to give me a tour...including her room, where dresses were strewn across chairs, and her smell was lingering everywhere. She was still inside my olfactory organ...and I was having a damned hard time getting her out.

"Father? Where are we going? To see Christine?" he asked, his long legs barely keeping up with mine.

"No," I said shortly. "I'm...taking some air..."

He didn't respond, and we walked down the Champs Elysees, and for once I kept my chin up and went down the street without a cloak about my face. People hurried by, but didn't pay much attention to us.

"How did you manage?" I asked suddenly.

"Sir?" he asked breathlessly.

I slowed down a bit, and glanced at his windblown hair and face. He looked so much like me...and yet he was perfect...where I was not.

"You wore a _domino_ mask...it covered _both_ sides of your face. People did not stare at you? They didn't associate you with the Phantom? Do you know...you could have been arrested on sight, for wearing a mask around this city. No one questioned you?"

"Not really," he said slowly. "I suppose maybe I was more...conversational than you. I didn't-"

"Didn't what?"

He hesitated a moment, then moved to a side alley and stopped. "I didn't let them bother me. I acted like myself. Of course...you have a reason to wear it. I did not. I...I'm sorry I wore it. I didn't mean to mock your way of life," he sighed. "I love you. I wanted to know more about you, and it seemed the best way."

"You can always ask me anything, Nicolas," I said quietly.

"Yes...but I could see...so much more, when I wore the mask," he said, his eyes meeting mine directly. "I know what you feel when you wear it, even if I don't have a reason. Does that make sense?"

I shook my head.

"I wore it...and people automatically assumed there was something wrong with me. They thought I was hiding something, and they did stare...and they whispered...like those men did to you that day. It made me feel embarrassed, and I didn't even _have_ to wear it. I know how you feel...because you've had to wear it every day. Your mother...my grandmother...wouldn't even look at you," he said, and I noticed his mouth tighten. "You don't have to wear it around me, Father. You don't have to wear it ever again."

"Nicolas..."

He glanced around for a moment, and saw that we were quite alone, then gave me a brief hug.

"Lets get out of here. I don't want to attract a thief."

He left me in the alley to compose myself for a moment, and I struggled to reign in the racing emotions that had been inside my heart all day. I was on another equally tumultuous ride...and this time I was at the mercy of Nicolas...and his ability to ignore me as I slipped into another round of brooding.

I left the alley and made my way back to the theater, and Nicolas hesitated a moment before excusing himself to go back to the hotel.

"Mother says she needs my help tomorrow," he said, not meeting my eyes. "She thinks our things will arrive from Marseilles, and wants me to help move them."

"I'll go to the Chagny's alone then," I said.

"No...I'll go with you. I'll come early enough."

"There's no sense in you exhausting yourself," I said stubbornly.

"I want to go," he said, looking at me with determination. "I'll be here early. They're leaving for England, you know. I want to tell Christine I'm sorry."

"She might not want to see us, Nicolas."

"She'll see _you_," he said confidently. "She will always want to see you."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I said goodnight and made my way home alone.

She hadn't always wanted to see me. I couldn't imagine why she would now. Or why she had ever gone with Nicolas. He had said she was unhappy...because of Changy's mother.

That wasn't my problem, but I did hope that Raoul could make her life more comfortable. I didn't have to like him...at all...but at least he had come for her. Three times, he had come after her.

He _was_ persistent.

I wondered if he was happy now that he got what he wanted.

--------------------------

The man who opened the door looked at us with suspicion, but seemed not too surprised.

"We'd like to speak with the Vicomte, and the Vicomtesse de Chagny, if you please."

He showed us into a library...the cheerful sun shining through the windows onto the perfectly groomed man standing near the hearth.

"Erik," he greeted me flatly. "I suppose I should not be surprised that you are here. Just maybe surprised you used a door. I half expected you to drop from the ceiling. You almost disappoint me."

_'Irritating, pompous little jerk,' _I almost said. '_Maybe you'd be more comfortable if I strung you from the ceiling!'_

Instead, I smiled grimly, and swallowed my anger. Nicolas stood beside me, looking more like me than any other day, because he was dressed in dark gentleman's clothing his mother had forced him to wear. He said it was because the Comtesse had called him a ill kept ruffian.

"Vicomte," I said formally. "I wondered if you might grant me a moment of your time. And that of your wife's."

"Christine?" he asked, and I saw a glimmer of fear cross his too perfect face. "Why?"

"I believe...," I sighed in resignation, "...I owe the two of you an apology. I must make it now. I know you are going abroad. I wish to give Christine some peace. I understand she has been...confused...recently."

He looked away for a moment, "Perhaps you never noticed...but she has always been confused."

I nodded, "Yes. I did know. I also believe I caused a great deal of it. No, that isn't quite correct, is it? I _know_ that I caused a great deal of it. I may look like a monster, Vicomte, but I was raised with manners, even if my mother never cared enough to display them to her friends."

I thought about _that_ for a moment, and realized she didn't have any friends. I brushed aside my feelings on her, and concentrated on the seemingly insurmountable task ahead of me. Casting my pride away. For the wrong woman. I should be doing this for Laure, and begging that she take me as I am. Instead of asking forgiveness from a woman I no longer cared about. I wasn't doing this for me, though. I was doing this for Christine...and for Nicolas. So he would see that I was capable of more than madness and depravity.

The Vicomte scratched his chin, then told a serving girl to bring Christine to him.

"Whatever you do," he said slowly, "don't encourage her to sing. I don't think she can handle the rigors of stage life. I am going to allow her to take a few roles, to please her, but I'm not going to allow her to tour. I think she would break under the strain of that constant environment."

"She's your wife," I said dismissively. "But I think you should let her sing however much she wants."

I didn't say anymore on the matter. It wasn't my place.

And soon, she was floating into the room...the same beautiful and distant vision that had been my sole obsession for too many years. A dream that I would never reach. A song I would never sing.

I was not sorry that I had lost her.

In losing her...I gained so much more.

"Erik?" she whispered, and this time she looked at me.

"Hello, Vicomtesse," I said politely. "Thank you for seeing me today."

She walked to me quickly, and at first I thought she would launch herself into my arms, but instead, she reached out and touched my sleeve hesitantly, before pulling away. Clearly, she remembered I had told her I didn't like to be touched. I had said it more to protect her, than myself. I was glad of it too, because I hadn't been sure I was capable of self-control while living with her for those few days. I hadn't been sure of anything.

"Did you come to take me away again?" she whispered, her eyes full of hope. "Do take me away! I want to sing for you, Angel!"


	8. The Fool

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I stared at Christine for a long time. Her eyes were bright and sparkling, but looked as if she wasn't quite focusing on me. She was so very delicate. A fragile flower, that would not support the weight of a raindrop. I glanced over at Chagny, and he was angry. I could tell he was also...resigned. He wasn't protesting, and didn't appear shocked by her statement. But he _was_ angry.

"No, Christine. I'm not taking you anywhere," I said gently. "We aren't ever going back there again."

Her eyes widened, "Never? We can't go to your home, Erik? Where music lives?"

"No," I swallowed painfully. "You must make your own music Christine. I have a family now. Remember Nicolas?"

I stepped aside so she could see him, and she smiled faintly at him.

"We had fun, did we not?" she said tremulously. "The river...I never knew the river could make music!"

I shot a look at Nicolas, then at Chagny, who was still angry.

"Music is everywhere, Christine," I said softly.

She turned to me, and her eyes lost some of its light. "No. Music is not here," she said in a toneless voice. She indicated the walls of her home, and finally, her husband. "Music does _not_ live here."

"It is inside of you," I said gently. "No one can take it away from you," I shot a belligerent look to de Chagny. "You have to make your own music. You must always sing, if that makes you happy. Even if there is no one to listen, you must sing."

She sighed, "Raoul?"

"Yes?" he said, trying to control the thread of irritation in his voice.

"Will you let me sing for you?"

"Now?"

"No," she laughed, giving him a mocking look, "forever. Can I sing forever?"

"For me, sweetheart, you could sing forever," he said, his face softening.

I cleared my throat, not wanting to see this strange affection they had for each other. How had I ever desired someone so incapable of rational thought? I thought about my mother...and shuddered. Christine resembled her very closely. The shame I felt when I had come back here resurfaced, and I struggled to control the revulsion I felt for myself. And her.

"Christine, I am sorry I deceived you," I said gruffly. "I'm sorry about everything."

Her eyes narrowed at me for a moment, and for a very brief second, I saw a bit of clarity in her eyes. She shook her head, as if to shake off the sensation of comprehension, and gave me another blank stare. So, she did this purposefully? To avoid reality?

It had been very real when she ripped my mask off.

It had been real, when she decided that the gendarmes should seal my fate.

I apologized again, but I no longer felt sorry. Not to a woman who would rather pretend the world was a rainbow, than the bitter and cruel thing that it was. I didn't think she really understood, or actually, _chose to understand _what I was saying.

Perhaps in that child-like mind, she was also not remembering what I had actually done.

I turned to Chagny instead of looking at her again.

"Vicomte, I do apologize for stringing you up that way," I said, smiling a little. "I hope your neck wasn't too injured, and you did not suffer a chill from the water."

He blustered for a moment, "_This_ is an apology?"

"Its the only one you're going to get. I wasn't the one who brought the gendarmes to the theater. That was your plot. It _is_ a sincere apology. I am sorry that I caused you suffering. I'm sorry for what I did to Christine. I _am_ glad I didn't kill you that night. It would have lingered on my conscious, and that would have been dreadful."

I glanced at Nicolas, unsure if he understood why I had withdrawn the heartfelt one I had practiced earlier in his presence.

He was smiling, and I nodded my head to Christine, indicating he was to continue with his own apology.

I waited patiently as he approached Christine, and she took his hands when he offered them to her.

"Christine...," he said softly. "I deceived you as well. I hope you can forgive me. But I did have fun with you. I'm sorry if I got you into trouble with your husband. Thank you for showing me around the city, and for the kind words you said about my father."

Startled, I stood up a little straighter, and caught Chagny scowling out of the corner of my eyes.

_She had said kind words about me?_

"I had fun too, Nicolas. Thank you for taking me back to the...to where...to where Erik lives. I missed it. But now, we're going away," she smiled, and pulled her hands away from him. She went to Chagny and put her hand on his shoulder. "We're going to England, and Raoul has bought us a house there. He might not be a Vicomte anymore. His mother is very angry, but Raoul says he doesn't care about the title, as long as I can be happy."

I looked at him with shock, and felt, _unwillingly_, respect notch up for him a little more. He was staring back at me with disdain, but I knew he was daring me to challenge his decision.

"Congratulations to you both," I said, "I believe we have taken enough of your time. We won't bother you again. Good day, Vicomte, and Vicomtesse."

------------------

Nicolas was laughing as we left the estate.

Laughing!

"She really wasn't too astute, was she, Father?" he said, looking out the carriage window in amusement. "I mean, she was very talkative when I was with her, but she didn't _talk_ about _anything."_

"Nicolas," I said firmly, "there is a screw loose in her head. You shouldn't make fun of her."

"Oh, I'll say!" he tried to sober his face, but failed.

"Where is this house your mother has bought?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"The sixteenth arrondissement," he said, still trying not to laugh.

My stomach tightened at his words. Sixteenth? The richest and most prestigious neighborhood in Paris? The very neighborhood, in fact, that we were currently _in_ as we left the Chagny estate?

Laure bought an estate near the _de Chagny's?_

It would be a miracle, I thought, if I did not throttle her.

I dropped Nicolas off at the hotel, and went to Nadir's to vent.

"Neighbors, Daroga! With the de Chagny's! Can you believe this? She's going to live near them!"

"It is a large district," he said dismissively, then, "not all of you, Erik? You won't live with your family?" he prodded, knowing how much I hated it when he did that.

"I don't know!" I exploded. "She hasn't asked again, has she?"

"I would think the first offer should have been sufficient," he said calmly. "The one...all the way back in Corsica. Remember?"

"It was different then," I insisted stubbornly.

"Why? Because she had not seen your home?"

I bared my teeth at him, "Yes! Don't think it didn't make a difference, Nadir! Don't think she didn't see me in a new light!"

"You're a fool," he said wearily. "Go away. You tire me, Erik. You always have. I thought if you ever had this chance...you would take it, and damned the consequences. But I never thought you were a coward. That woman loves you...Allah knows why, but she does."


	9. A Reprieve, My Foot

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_He says he needs to talk to Christine._

No explanation. Nothing to tell me why he was going. I was fuming when they left, and furious by the time Nicolas returned, but he feigned exhaustion, and said he wanted to rest. He shut himself up in his room and pretended to be asleep, but I could tell he wasn't.

The boy had absolutely no poker face. Not the first time I had acknowledged that.

I had left the room and bought him some nice clothes to wear, using what he had to help me figure out what he needed. I wasn't going to let him go to their home again dressed as he had been. He grumbled and complained when I woke him up, but when he left, he looked very handsome.

I was still furious as he left, but he wouldn't explain why they were going, though I suspected that he knew.

I couldn't possibly believe he was going to apologize. Not Erik! He never apologized for anything, unless he meant it, and I couldn't believe he was sorry for what he had done, especially after all the pain he had gone through afterwards.

So why?

I waited around that morning, ill for more than half of it, for him to return from the Chagny's, and when I heard the door open I pretended disinterest. My heart fell when I saw Erik was not with him.

He was shrugging out of his coat, and I could see the trace of a smile on his lips.

"Mother," he said...it was back to Mother, unfortunately, "Father says he wants to speak with you about the house. He said it was in the same neighborhood as the Chagny's, and he didn't appear to pleased."

"Well," I said waspishly, "where is he?"

"He went home, I suppose."

I scowled. He wanted to speak with me, but would not come here to do it?

"He'll have to wait. I want to see if our things have arrived. Are you ready to go to Nadir's?"

"Let me change," he called over his shoulder, and disappeared into his room.

When he emerged, I practically pounced on him. I could take it no longer.

"Did you have a pleasant visit?" I asked, startling him at the sharpness of my tone.

"I suppose."

"Those words are banned from your vocabulary, Nicolas. Why did you go there?" I snapped.

He managed to look wounded...and humored at the same time.

"To see Christine," he said patiently. "Father wanted to talk to her."

"Nicolas...what did they discuss?" I asked with slow deliberation.

I was quickly losing my temper. He was withholding information from me, and I didn't like it.

He paused a moment then said in perfect calmness, "You'll have to ask Father. I'm not your message service."

I watched in shock as he left the room, and me, still with my mouth hanging open! That _boy_! Oh, that dreadful, evil boy!

I didn't ask again as we rode in a carriage to Nadir's. He complained that we didn't walk, but I was exhausted, and knew exactly why. If he was keeping secrets, I could too! I was already angry when I arrived at his door, and only slightly relieved when Darius answered.

My annoyance shot up when I saw Erik sitting comfortably in a chair across from Nadir.

He scowled at me. I scowled back.

"Nadir, I trust our things have finally arrived?"

He handed me a ticket, "Just tell the people at the station, and they'll show you where it is. You can even hire someone to take it to your new residence. Congratulations by the way. I hear it is in an impressive district."

"I really wouldn't know," I said nonchalantly, "I know nothing about Paris. But it _is_ beautiful."

Erik glared at me.

"Did you know...it is near the Bois? I think it is a lovely section of the city," I said smugly, looking at him, daring him to say something about the house I purchased.

Who cared if it was near the de Chagny's? They weren't going to be there anymore. And I doubted his parents would be inviting us for tea. Besides, I remember it being on the opposite side of the Bois. It was really nowhere close to them.

"Yes, lovely," he said quietly.

So, he didn't wish to discuss the house?

"Well, thank you, Nadir. I appreciate all you've done for me," I smiled. With a flourish, and with a smirk, I handed him some money, "Give this to Darius for his trouble."

He slid Erik a glance, but he accepted it without saying anything.

"Nicolas? We have a busy day. Are you coming?" I said, and moved towards the door.

"Yes, Mother," he said, but appeared to look a little hesitant. "Goodbye Father, Nadir."

I left, and finally leaned my head back against the cushion, drawing in a shaky breath. He had said two words to me.

_Two words._

With a heavy heart I went to the train station and made arrangements for the cargo to be transported to the estate. Jules Bernard was there when we arrived, and I let him give Nicolas a tour as I wandered less formally through the rooms, unable to feel regret for purchasing the house. I already felt at peace here.

I knew he would love it, if he would give it a chance.

Besides, we could always sell it.

But I didn't want to. I _really_ didn't want to.

And it wasn't near the de Chagny's at all.

I was still angry over their visit. I wanted to know why he had gone their, but Nicolas was still mute on the subject.

I decided to go there tonight. To the theater. I said I wouldn't, but my pride wasn't as important to me as his. I needed to talk to him. I wanted to see him.

I loved him, and I missed him.

I decided to go there tonight...and give him a reprieve. He was to be my husband again...if only for tonight. Maybe I could convince him...no...he didn't want me to do that.

I would go there, and give him a reprieve...and I would make him want to come with me.

I would make him forget all about _Christine._

_---------------------------_

Nicolas was told to stay in the hotel. I felt like a young girl, sneaking around with a beau. He was tired from helping the men from the station move furniture inside, and I had lain down after I went back to the hotel, trying to decide if I should still go or not.

We would be leaving the hotel tomorrow, and Nicolas, unfortunately, was going to have to eat my food. Or we would starve.

I hoped I didn't burn the house down.

I took a carriage to the theater in the fading evening light, and paid a bewildered man who claimed that the theater wasn't open, and that I shouldn't venture inside.

"I'm not," I whispered with a grin, "I'm meeting a man. Shh. If you come by in a couple of hours, you'll have at least one more fare for this evening."

He had smiled knowingly and continued on his way.

I found the deserted alley, and opened the door, grateful it was not locked. I pushed against the wall as I'd seen him and Nicolas do, and it moved. I prayed I wouldn't get lost.

Thankfully, I didn't, and recognized most of the things I'd seen on my way down...and back up.

And thankfully, the boat was still on the shore. I was terrified of climbing in it. I remembered he said it wasn't deep, but I _knew_ it was cold.

It was more difficult to maneuver than it looked, and I nearly ended up in the water half a dozen times before I finally saw the metal grate that hung around his home.

"Erik?" I called, and immediately saw his head shoot up from near the hearth.

"Laure?"

"Could you open the gate, please?"

He leapt up and moved a lever, and the gate rolled open. I moved the boat forward slowly, and he pulled it up on the shore, careful only to touch my arm as I got out.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, and I saw the confusion in his eyes.

Desire. Hope. Desperation.

"I'm giving you a reprieve," I whispered, and placed my hand on his chest.

"A _what?" _

"I'm your wife," I said calmly. "I want to make love to my husband. I don't expect anything out of this...other than pleasure, for both of us. I'm not here to change your mind. I just want you to make love to me."

He exhaled sharply, and I saw his eyes light. A feral gleam entered them, and I knew this would not be the sweet, romantic encounter I had expected.

No, this would be fierce, and I shivered in anticipation.

For tonight, I would create a happy memory in this place for him. I knew that he had few, if any of this place, and I would make love to him here, and tell him I loved him, and for the first time, he would be at peace in this dreary home he had made.

"Make love to me, Erik," I whispered seductively. I turned away from him and gave him my back, my eyes closing as his fingers tugged at the buttons to my dress, and pressed a kiss to my bare skin as he slowly removed it.

He pulled me away from the water, and close to the fire. I smiled as I lay down on the blanket I had bought him. He looked at me with hunger, and undressed before me. I could see that he was self conscious of his body...of his mask...and I got to my knees and kissed him-there.

He hissed, and sank to his knees, pulling me roughly to him and claiming my mouth with urgency and passion.

"Laure...," he growled, "you are a vixen. A dream. A beautiful dream. Tell me..."

"I love you," I murmured, and pressed a kiss to his jaw, then his ear.

"Oh, God," he said raggedly. "I love you. I _do_ love you."

"Then love me," I whispered, and lay down before him. "Love me, right now."

He pressed his weight upon me, his eyes like fire as our skin touched again. He lifted my hips and slid inside me, his mouth finding my breasts, his thighs moving against my own. I rolled my head back as he thrust against me, and tried to rise to his descent, and fall to his ascent.

He whispered my name, and continued kissing me, his mouth sliding over mine, then across my neck, pressing kisses wherever he could...and bites in several delicious places.

My cries were astounding inside the depths of the cave. I could hear them echoing throughout his home, and would have felt embarrassment, if I had been able to care. It was too wonderful. He was so perfect, so beautiful...and I wanted him to keep going forever.

Perfect, beautiful things do not last, and all too soon I could feel the wide swath of desire overtake me, and I felt him rock against me as well, his body stiffening, his release entering me, and his head raised to look into my eyes.

It was like seeing straight into his soul.

Those eyes...I had seen him like this before...in Persia. I had looked into those green eyes, and fallen under his spell.

And he saw into mine.

I knew it. I _felt_ it, the connection with him.

Still, he was surprised when he rolled away from me, and I stood up to dress.

"Where are you going?" he asked, lounging on the pallet near the fire.

"I'm going back to my hotel," I said smoothly.

His mouth fell open, "Back to the hotel?"

"Yes. Nicolas is still there. I can't leave him by himself," I said carelessly.

I finished dressing, and turned to find him staring at me.

"Why are you leaving?"

"I told you, Nic-"

He waved a hand at me.

"Are you angry because I apologized to Christine and Raoul?"

"You apologized to them?" I asked, "I didn't think that was why you went there."

He frowned at me, "What other possible reason would I have?"

"Oh, I don't know...why not...'Please Christine...take me back?'...or 'Sing for me, Christine, sing for your Angel?'...any of those sound appealing?" I snapped. "You should be pleased I bought a house near their estate. Maybe you can visit when they go home for the holidays!"

He jumped up, and moved towards his pants, but I kicked them away from him into the lake. He stared at me in shock, and looked at his trousers floating in the water.

"I got what I wanted here tonight," I stated with as much dignity as I could muster. "I doubt Christine could have done it better. Goodnight. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

He was staring at me in shock as I jumped in the boat and pushed away. I stared at the grate in trepidation. He could lower it before I ever reached it. He didn't though, and I glanced back to see his face finally break...into laughter.

He was laughing at me!

He was roaring!

I fumed all the way to the other shore, shouting back at him to, "Just shut up!"

I had never done something so stupid in my entire life. I was jealous of Christine, and I had allowed that to come in the way of something that would have been beautiful and special.

A reprieve, my foot!

I had wanted to show him that I was the only one for him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

I swore I heard his laughter until I reached the hotel.


	10. Tickled Pink

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I shouldn't have laughed.

She had been angry, upset, and _very_ embarrassed.

I shouldn't have laughed at her.

Yet, how could I not? She'd been a little hellion, coming in here unexpectedly, blasting through my defenses and my resolve, then leaving in just as much of a flurry.

She kicked my trousers into the water.

_I got what I wanted here tonight. _

Shouldn't that have offended me? I had been used...shouldn't I have felt used? Perhaps I did. _Quite_ _effectively used. _She had used me...for her pleasure. She had come here...to make love to me. No, that wasn't quite right.

She had come here for sex.

And, _sex_, she had got.

Oh, I was loving that woman more and more. She was a balm to my battered and almost non-existent male ego. She had used me, and I had been a willing slave.

I laughed like a maniac.

"Just shut up!" I heard her shout from across the water.

I went to my room and dressed quickly, then took the mirrored exit to the street, waiting in the shadows for her to emerge. She finally did, her face flaming, her mouth tight, stalking across the empty street like a woman on a mission.

I followed her discreetly, promising myself I would have a word with her about the dangers of traveling alone at night in Paris. She wasn't paying attention to anything, and didn't get a carriage until there was a crowd of people on the main road in front of the theater. I walked quickly behind, trying to not laugh and make the citizens of Paris look at me more than they already were.

She was still angry when she left the carriage, but I didn't follow her inside. Nicolas was in there, and he certainly didn't need to hear _that_ particular argument. Amused beyond measure...thrilled beyond belief, I walked to Nadir's.

I was halfway there before I realized that the whistling was coming from me.

"You're in an amiable mood," Nadir said mildly.

"Yes," I agreed. "Ready for a game of chess?"

"Chess?" he repeated, looking at me with suspicion. "We haven't played chess since..."

"Stop scowling," I said impatiently. "Just get the board."

I could tell he was wondering what had put me in such a mood...but I didn't elaborate. He had seen us earlier, colder to each other than two icicles, and I doubted he would believe me if I told him what had happened to me tonight.

He probably thought we would freeze the sheets if we ever did get back together.

Of course, he_ had_ seen me mauling her outside of her house in Ajaccio. He _had_ gotten quite a laugh out of it too, hence his exile to Paris.

He set the board on the table, and offered me a glass of wine. I ignored it, and concentrated on arranging my pieces.

"Did you go to the estate?" I asked suddenly.

"Yes. Its magnificent," he said quietly, watching for any sign of the sullen beast I had been earlier.

"_Is_ it close to de Chagny?"

"Not at all," he said, relaxing a little.

"Tell me about it," I said, leaning back to look at him.

"Well," he began nervously. "It was built by...Monsieur Bernard."

My hand froze over a misaligned knight.

My eyes shot to his. "I beg your pardon?"

"Laure wanted to know who could help her find a house that you would like. I recommended Monsieur Bernard. She went to see him the other day, and he showed her a house he had built himself. She said she fell in love with it on sight."

She had chosen a house for me?

My heart swelled inside, and I lowered my eyes to the knight again.

I had been very cruel to her. She had chosen a house that I would like...and one she liked as well. I had made her think she was too ignorant to make the decision on her own.

"What does it...no...you know what?" I said dismissively. "I would rather see it myself."

"That's good, Erik," he said slowly. "I'm glad you're being rational about this."

I sighed, "Are they all moved in now?"

"Yes. She's leaving the hotel tomorrow."

And going to be clear across town, I thought sullenly.

I doubted after I laughed at her, that she would be inviting me to stay.

I would let her settle in, and hopefully she wouldn't mind if I came by to visit her. Hopefully she wouldn't mind...and maybe she'd ask me to stay.

_Should_ I wait for another offer?

I felt left out of this whole affair, and didn't feel like I could just throw my weight around and demand to be let back into her life.

Was I even ready?

After I beat Nadir three times, and lost on purpose for the fourth, I went back home. I lay down on the blanket she had bought me, the one we had just made wild, passionate love...or sex...upon. My body wanted her again. My heart wanted more.

Was I even ready?

Sitting there alone...I was amazed that I didn't _feel_ alone.

_I didn't feel alone...and there was no one around._

The only thing I felt...was that I missed Laure and Nicolas.

I missed my family.

-------------------------------

I had explained everything to Nicolas about my past. I had told him about my childhood...my birthday...my mother, the mask, Sasha, even Marie. I told him about Etienne, and why I wouldn't ever be called by that name, because he wanted to put me in an asylum, and my mother was going to let him. At least, I had thought so.

I even told him about the gypsies, and Giovanni...and finally...Luciana.

I had never told _anyone_ about Luciana.

It was like breaking free of some strange and cold depth...and feeling light upon my face for the first time. He had broken down when I told him about Luciana. I had as well, and tried to control my emotions, but I had failed. I didn't even know if I could tell _Laure_ about Luciana. It was a memory I didn't care to dredge up.

That a girl had died after looking at my face.

It was a weight I had been dragging behind me for years. On a lugging, clanking, bitter chain of regret and something I couldn't even describe as humiliation.

Disgrace.

_Shame. Shame. Shame._

I had told Nicolas how much I loved Giovanni, and shown him the silver compass.

"I'll give this to you one day. Not now," I had closed my hand around it possessively. "But one day, I would like you to have it, Nicolas."

He had smiled at me faintly, and nodded, "I would be honored."

Before I had ever told him anything though, I had asked him something very important. I didn't want his answer to depend on the pitiful story I was going to tell him. I wanted to know, and I would know before I ever told him anything about my childhood. I didn't want his answer to be influenced by pity.

"What do you think of me, Nicolas? You know the worst things about me...so...have you decided whether or not you will accept me as your Father? Accept me, as I am?"

"That was never in question," had came his steady reply.

"You didn't want me at first," I had said quietly.

"I was angry. I thought you had forced yourself on my mother, and that I had been created out of that. When she told me...she told me it wasn't...nothing else really mattered. I had wanted to meet you for so long...I didn't care about anything else," he'd said softly.

I wasn't sure why he could overlook everything...but he told me he had thought I had left Christine for him. That, combined with the fact that I hadn't raped his mother...had made him happy.

I at last understood his complete about-face on the island.

And his subsequent flight to Paris to confront Christine.

He told me his day and a half with her had been pretty uneventful. She had met him in front of the theater during the morning, and they had went all around Paris...to the museums, the river...across the river. He had sang her songs, and she had sang with him, but that was all she wanted. She didn't want anything romantic...as I had feared at first...she just wanted _music._

She slept in her dressing room...and he had spent the night in my mother's bed...listening to Raoul de Chagny shouting inside the mirrored room. I had laughed at that.

"He was angry, Father," he had whispered, but hadn't looked frightened at all. "Christine knew he was there, too. She didn't say anything, though."

"She is strange," I had admitted.

"Yes," he'd nodded sagely. "Strange. I'm glad you came to us."

"I _would have_ come sooner, if I had known, Nicolas. I would have left her...without a second thought."

"I know," he had smiled. "I know."


	11. Malice

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

There was no doubt who sent it. Looking at it, and remembering the other one I had that was similar...there was no one else who would send me an orchid in November.

Had he come in here and placed it next to me while I slept? I was really going to have to start sleeping lighter. Or put a bell on my door. Or on him.

I blushed when I realized he had seen me sleeping...and I was wearing his shirt. The one I had stolen from his bag. Had he seen it? I was still angry at him for laughing at me.

Did he laugh because I acted like a jealous wife?

Which I was.

He shouldn't have apologized to that woman. That_ girl._

Or did he laugh at my pathetic attempt to rile him?

I leaned over and gazed at the flower, torn between being angry with him...and loving him more for doing it. I leaned forward to inhale the odor...and immediately regretted it.

My stomach recoiled from the sweet fragrance, even as my mind recognized that it was a wonderful odor. My stomach won the battle, and I staggered to the bathroom...instantly deciding that I was still angry with him.

Nicolas was already up by the time I emerged from my early morning ventures into the bathroom. I had tried to keep it quiet, but I knew he had heard me for the last two mornings. He covered his plate as soon as I walked into the room and I looked at it with wariness.

"Was that _sausage_?" I whispered, feeling my stomach roll.

"No," he smiled, but I had already smelled it.

"I swear, if you bring that near me again..."

"Have you told him yet?" he asked, still smiling.

I closed my eyes, wishing I had dropped him at least once as a child. Right on his head.

"No. And you aren't either."

"Why?" he frowned. "He would be here in a second, and you know it. You really should tell him."

"I will, Nic. But I don't want him here because of that," I said softly. "I want him here, because he wants to be here."

He smiled gregariously, and glanced down at my stomach.

"You're really going to...?" he whispered, and stood up to give me a hug. "I'm going to have a little sister?"

"Sister?"

"That's right," he said confidently, and I felt him touch my stomach for a moment, before he became embarrassed and moved his hand. "A sister."

"Oh, Nicolas," I laughed, just thinking about Erik having to tend to a daughter, "I honestly hope not. I don't think your father could handle it."

"Do we have to move across town today?" he sighed. "He's not going to be able to get visit as quickly."

"Did you let him in last night?" I asked suspiciously.

He gave me a wry grin, "Maybe."

"Did he go in my room?"

His grin widened considerably. "He might have," he said carelessly. "You know...I sense something may have happened while I was gone. Did you get along well?"

'Obviously,' I thought, thinking of my morning nausea and the fact that my dress had been a little tight this morning. I was going to have to get my mother here, fast, to take my dresses out. Otherwise, I would be spending more of his money on clothes, and I wasn't willing to be insulted again for wasting anymore money.

"Your father and I got along very well," I said. "And then you ran away...and we stopped."

He looked so guilty I almost relented, but I was still upset with him for running away.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't know I was the reason you were fighting."

"We aren't' fighting, Nicolas. Fighting would almost be better than what we're doing, which is ignoring one another."

He drew his brows together, looking a little arrogant, and a lot like Erik.

"I want him to move with us," he said firmly.

"He will come to us when he's ready. You can't pressure him, Nicolas. I don't want him to be unhappy. Neither do you. You must realize, he's lived alone his entire life. It can't be easy for him to have us around all the time. And he isn't pleased about the house, though I hope once he sees it he will change his mind," I said softly. "Now go gather your things. I'm ready to spend the morning in our new home...cleaning."

He rolled his eyes.

"And you're going to help me," I stated, and left him standing there, still rolling them.

----------------------

The house needed a thorough dusting. I had sent Nicolas back into town to get me supplies, and I was intent on cleaning out the master bedroom, and a room for him. Our furniture had been delivered, even if it wasn't in its proper place, so I got to work, doing what I could before he came back with the brooms, cloths, and cleaning agents. He grumbled and groaned until Nadir arrived to help move the furniture to its proper position, and I rummaged through things until I found my painting supplies and had Darius carry them up to the ballroom. He brought the rest of my paintings as well, those of Erik, and of Nicolas, and the other things I had done that I kept hidden away in my studio.

I would have to see about getting a lock on the doors.

It would not do for Nicolas to see the nude harem scene I had not destroyed. I hoped he hadn't already. I still hadn't confronted him about the possibility that he had been inside my studio.

I arranged everything the way I wanted it, and strung a fresh canvas and set it on my easel, looking at it for a long time, imagining the first thing I would paint in my new studio.

The lighting in here would be perfect during the morning, and I intended to get to work early on something I was already imagining. Something beautiful.

"Mother?" Nicolas called from the doorway.

"Yes?"

"The furniture is into place. What do we have to eat?" he said, wiping his brow. "I'm starving."

I grimaced. I was not adept in this department. I should have made Nina come with us.

"Why don't we go out somewhere?" I said brightly. "Get cleaned up, and we'll go out somewhere."

He paused a moment, "Can we take something back for Father?"

"Sure," I said slowly. "Of course."

We stopped by a bakery and bought bread, then by a delicatessen and purchased some meat and cheese, as well as some wassail. It would be great on the blustery cold day. I didn't know if he would drink it or not, but he was probably cold enough to drink anything as long as it was hot. I knew he undoubtedly lived on the food I had bought, but I didn't dare attempt to try anything my first day.

I didn't even have any groceries, so I was saved...for the moment.

My mother had taught me a few things, and I could do some basic recipes, although they weren't nearly as good as what she made. And I could already feel the hunger craves that were going to begin.

I wanted my mother's cooking. I was going to have to bribe her to live with me, if I could not persuade Nina to come here.

Nicolas showed me a different way to go to his home, so we wouldn't have to cross the lake. I was grateful. There were more tunnels, but at least I didn't have to get on that freezing water again. He stepped aside to assist me backwards over the mirror, and as he did, I was lifted from the darkness of the tunnel to the darkness of his home, and Erik's lips whispered into my ear.

"Come to give me another reprieve?"

I slapped his hands away from my waist, and glared at him, then turned to look at Nicolas, who was balancing the food and drink in his arms.

"Let me help you," I said quickly, and took the wassail from him. The spicy, warm flavor of the drink filled the air, an ironic thing to smell in his home. Erik looked down at it, then at me, and I saw humor in his eyes.

"I thought you said you wouldn't come back here," he said softly.

"You want me to leave?" I asked sharply.

He didn't say anything, and took the cider drink from me. He set it on a table and turned to take the basket from Nicolas.

"What is this?" he finally asked, looking at the food, then at us.

"We're going to have lunch," Nicolas said, and proceeded to take dishes from a small cabinet and set them on the table.

He poured us all a drink, and I watched in amazement as he prepared three sandwiches, and handed us each one.

Erik and I looked at one another for a second, then looked away.

"Well?" Nicolas said, moving towards the hearth to sit on the floor. "Are you going to just stand there?"

"I have chairs, Nicolas," Erik said quietly.

"But not a large enough table," he returned evenly. "I've been moving furniture all day. I'd really rather not wait any longer."

I sat next to Nicolas, turning a fiery red as I avoided the pallet we had made love on last night. Erik sat in front of an enormous gilded chair, his back shifting uncomfortably for a moment before he took a pillow and stuck it behind him.

Nicolas dug into his food with relish, and I picked at mine, still not really hungry, but knowing I should eat something. My sickness usually lasted until after I had eaten at noon, but actually getting food down for the midday meal was intolerable. Once I had eaten though, I remembered from carrying Nicolas, I would be ravenous for the remainder of the day.

I nearly choked on the cider when I looked up to see Erik watching me, his eyes dark and brooding, his food untouched on his lap. We stared at each other for what seemed like a full minute, before he finally switched his gaze to the fire.

"Did you get moved in?" he finally asked, glancing up at me for a second, then frowning into his plate.

"Yes," I said softly. "I'm afraid the simple furniture I brought from Corsica don't really suit it very well, and it is far from being fully furnished."

"You can buy whatever you want," he said softly.

I bit my lip to keep from saying anything about my purchase of the house. He didn't have to give me that money if he thought I was going to mismanage it. He didn't have to give me anything.

I would rather have him than the money or the house.

"Thank you," I said politely, and swallowed another bite of food.

His head raised after a moment, and he turned to look towards the mirror. A few seconds later, Nadir stepped through, and following him was my father. Directly behind him, my mother. I stared in shock for a moment before I reacted.

The food and plate slid to the floor as I jumped up and rushed to them, my father wrapping his arms around me, and my mother pressing kisses to my face and hands. She started crying, and I did to. I had something to tell her, and I could hardly wait. I had to tell _someone_, and I knew I wasn't going to tell Erik. Nicolas didn't count. He had guessed.

"What are you doing here?" I exclaimed, "Never mind, oh, I'm so glad you came!"

I hugged them again, relief flooding through every part of my body and mind. They always knew how to help me. They always knew what I needed.

It had been too long since I had seen them, and I had missed them terribly. Especially my father. I had barely seen him since my wedding day.

"Papa," I whispered, "I'm so happy to see you."

"Where's Nicolas?" he grunted when I squeezed him too tight.

"He's here. Erik's here," I said softly, and indicated them both.

Erik was standing to the side, and nodded at them both, but did not speak.

Nicolas came forward slowly, prepared to receive more scoldings now that his grandparents were here. "You have to come see the house," I said excitedly. "I can't wait to show you, Mother. _I_ bought a house!"

My mother was beginning to look around his home, and her face was tight and unsmiling as she agreed. My father was looking around as well, and looked just as grim.

Erik, well, he looked mortified to once again have his home invaded. He wasn't looking at any of us, but he _was _glaring at Nadir with supreme malice.


	12. The Tiger

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik

Laure's parents did not look at all impressed with my home. They had known, of course, they _had to have known_ where I had lived the past few years. But they did not look pleased at all. Her father was looking around the room with a faint look of displeasure, and her mother was taking it in with the look of someone who had eaten sour cherries. Just another notch against my favor.

Nadir was no longer looking at me.

"Papa, I'm so glad you came," she said, for what was perhaps the eighth time. "Did you get my letter?"

"No," he said shortly. "Did you send one?"

"Yes. Right after I arrived, and we found Nicolas. I sent one with Darius."

"We left a few days after you did, but we were on an extremely slow moving ship. I think I could have swam faster, but your mother wouldn't hear of it," he muttered.

"Oh, Vincent, stop," Clare chided.

"Erik, I hope I find you are well," Vincent said, moving farther into the house. "I was wondering if Nicolas had come here at all, but I guess you knew where to look."

"Indeed."

"Its rather chilly in here, isn't it?" he asked, giving me a reproachful look.

"It has been a cold day," I said obtusely.

"Why are you here, rather than at your new house?" he prodded.

I shot Laure a look, "I prefer to remain here. Laure and Nicolas were just visiting."

He gave me a disapproving look, and I gave him a cool stare, not wanting him to know that his daughter hadn't asked. Or that I didn't want to, in case she said no. Right now, all I wanted was for them to leave.

All of them.

"Yes, Papa. Nicolas thought it would be a good idea to bring Erik something to eat. We were finished, I think. Maybe you'd like to go to the estate with me? I need Mother's help with a lot of things. You didn't happen to bring enough clothes for a lengthy stay, did you?" she asked hopefully.

It hadn't been her idea for this picnic? The knowlege was disappointing, to say the least, and she still wasn't including me in plans to see the house. No matter, I told myself. I would rather stay here, than be under the same roof with the Bourne's.

"We can stay for about a week," Vincent said firmly. "I'm going to Cherbourg, and finding somewhere close to the port. If you had consulted me, you would have already had a home there."

"No," she said softly. "I want to remain here, for now. I have a lot of plans for my new home."

He tightened his mouth, but only said, "Well, lets go see it then."

He glanced at me, and nodded before helping his wife through the mirror.

Laure looked at me uncertainly for a moment, "You're staying here?"

I inclined my head marginally, and turned away from her. I heard her make some small sound, of disgust, or something else, I wasn't certain, but then she too was gone.

"Father, why don't you come with us?" Nicolas asked softly. "I think you'll like it. Its a-"

"No." I said quietly.

"Father-"

"Nicolas, I said no."

His face had turned to stone, and he gave me an almost angry look. "You're making things difficult," he snapped. "It doesn't have to be like this."

"I'm sorry, Nicolas. I prefer to remain here."

He opened his mouth to say something, then shot a look at the mirror, "You really need to have an honest discussion with her. Soon."

He turned around and left, pushing past Nadir and jumping through the mirror to catch up with his mother.

"Nadir, if you bring even one more person here," I threatened him quietly, "I will no doubt be forced to kill you."

--------------------

It appeared that not even Nicolas was willing to see me this time. He did not visit the next day, and I brooded around the house, not even attempting to see Nadir after my empty threat from the night before.

Why had I foolishly insisted on all this?

Now, I was in the awkward position of having to admit fault, and in front of her parents, no less. No. I would wait until they were gone before approaching Laure. I doubted she was still receptive to me, after I had laughed at her last night, but I was weary of my own company.

I hadn't meant to leave here last night after I had returned from Nadir's, but I had found myself prowling the streets below her hotel, wanting to see her...wanting to hold her. To explain that I hadn't been laughing because she had made a fool of herself.

She hadn't.

I had laughed, because I found myself with a very spirited bride...and one willing to admit she had needs and urges...just like me. And she had acted on them, though I suspected she had come here for more than a quick tumble.

Too bad she hadn't stayed.

She could have gotten at _least_ two.

But I had laughed at her, and she had left, furious. Then when I saw the orchid...well...I simply couldn't let it sit in the florists window. No doubt he would be confused by the money left there, but I had wanted it for her.

Was it to be my signet gift then, for my wife, to give her something alive, rather than dead?

A living, exotic flower, instead of a rose that would wither and die?

She had been lying across her bed, bare legs twined in the sheets, her shirt...or rather...my shirt...not hiding anything at all. If I had not been aware of Nicolas lurking in the hallway, I would have gladly climbed into that soft haven of her arms, and found out just how mad she really was.

Would I have woken up a spitfire? Or would she have sighed in my arms and let me love her, slower, and with more finesse?

Instead, I had touched her hair, and traced my hand lightly across her face. Nicolas was right. She really did sleep like the dead.

She hadn't even stirred as I kissed her cheek, although I had not tried to rouse her. She just continued sleeping, her face as beautiful in the moonlight as it had been in firelight, and I had left the gift for her to find.

I ached for her again. I did now, it seemed, _all the time_.

My self imposed celibacy was not going well. Now that I a taste of what it was supposed to be like, I was finding it impossible to deal with the cravings and urges that had been dormant for most of my life.

It was like a tiger had been woken, and he was indeed hungry.


	13. A Firm, Yet Gentle Hand

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

My father was furious. To say the least. He had fumed silently all the way to the estate, had not commented much on its design and elegance, and had not offered his approval on my choice of residence. He was more vocal about his displeasure over my purchase than Erik had been.

I, however, was not going to budge. I had done something on my own for once, even if it had not been with my own money, and I was not going to give up my home.

He was angry because he had expected me, Nicolas, and Erik, to all go along with his plan to move to Cherbourg. I had been able to avoid him for the remainder of the night we returned from Erik's by feigning tiredness after the tour, and shutting myself in my room alone. Sleeping there without Erik had not been easy. Somehow I had imagined us there together the first night. After I had been sure everyone else was asleep, I had crept down to my new studio and painted in the dim light. I knew I wouldn't get my early morning light for painting. At least not yet.

I was not, unfortunately, able to deter my father once he had a night's rest and eaten a large breakfast that my mother had prepared. She had sent Nicolas to the market bright and early to get her everything she needed, and I had been too ill to eat with them.

Once I calmed down enough to go downstairs without rousing suspicion, I knew instantly that Nicolas had told him the reason for my absence. Nicolas had looked positively guilty.

"Laure," my father said grimly. "I would like to talk to you in private."

He let me lead him into Erik's intended workroom and I sat at one of two chairs inside. It felt strange to discuss something with him in such an unfurnished room, but he didn't sit anyway. He stood with his back to me for awhile, until I began to feel like I was a child again...waiting...and waiting.

"I made a decision," I said firmly, "and I stand by it."

He looked at me over his shoulder, "Do you? Then why isn't _he_ standing by _you_? I left you alone with him for a week, and you haven't managed to get any farther than you were before he ever went to Corsica. He's gone back underground...and now...," he gestured impatiently with his hand at the home. "You have bought a home, and he isn't even here to share it with you. You call this _progress_?"

"I know it must seem like we haven't gotten along," I said quietly, "but we really did, until Nicolas pulled this stunt, and those men tried to hurt him. Obviously we have gotten along, otherwise I would not be pregnant."

"It is not that I am not thrilled to be a grandfather again, Laure, but I went to extreme measures to give you what you wanted. I knew you wanted to marry him, and have always known you loved him. I gave you what you wanted, did I not? And look where it has gotten you. You are carrying his child again...and he is nowhere in sight," he said softly.

"He doesn't know."

His eyebrows raised, "He doesn't? I guess I can feel a little relief at that."

"I don't want him here because of the baby," I whispered. "I don't want him here for any other reason than he wants to be here."

"Then why isn't he here already?" he said, his voice low and compassionate. "Why hasn't he come here, Laure?"

Pain and anger swelled up inside me fiercely, but all I could manage to do was cry.

"I-I don't know," I choked out. "He...he became embarrassed when I saw his home. He said he wanted to be alone. He doesn't seem to comprehend anything I say to him, about family...and love...and sharing. He wants it...but he can't take it. I know he wants it, Papa. How could he not?"

He shook his head, "I don't know, Laure. I thought once he had a taste of what you could offer...he would be happy. I...I'm beginning to get the impression that nothing can penetrate that cold heart of his. If he even has one."

"No!" I said sharply. "Don't say that about him. He isn't like that."

"He hasn't given me any indication of letting go of his demons, Laure. He's back in the theater, where he once told me he would never go again. He said he would never return to Paris, and yet you have bought a house. Now he can be content to live there for the rest of his days, if it pleases him, and you will be here, all alone. Someday even Nicolas will be gone, and you will be raising another child by yourself. You have enabled him to take the easy way out. Does that satisfy either one of you?"

"You don't know him," I insisted stubbornly.

"In all fairness, I don't think you do either. I think you are still imagining that noble man you met in Persia, who was incomparable to any other man in the world. He certainly doesn't stand a chance against the empty shell you are shackled to now," he said harshly.

"Don't say that about him," I whispered fiercely. "You don't know him like I do. I _did_ spend time with him for those two weeks, in Corsica, and on the train. He is not _cold_. He is reserved. He isn't heartless, that man has more _heart_ than anyone I know. No one, apparently including you, has ever bothered to _look_, and _see."_

"I was prepared to look the other way, as long as those things remained in his past," he bit out, his face filling with fury again. "I was hesitant to trust him with you, but since you had so thought so much of him, I decided to allow you to marry him."

"You _decided?_ To _allow_ me?" I began hotly, "I am thirty-"

He chuckled, "Ah, but you cannot say that much longer, can you?"

I scowled, "That's besides the point! You can't dictate my entire life, Papa. I love you, and I appreciate very deeply all the things you have done for me, but this is _my_ decision. I would have come to this conclusion, with or without our approval. I would have married him, without you and Nicolas contriving to throw us together, and without you arranging a wedding. I daresay we would not have done it so soon, but we damned well would have married!"

I realized suddenly that I was standing toe to toe with him, and my finger was directly pointed at his nose. He was staring at me in surprise, his mouth hanging open, and his eyes crossing for a moment to fixate on the tip of my finger.

At what point had I risen from my chair?

The comical expression on his face soon had me laughing. He glanced back at me, and his mouth upturned ever so slightly.

"We are a pair, aren't we?" he said ruefully. "I have only realized that you are not a little girl any longer."

"Papa, I haven't been a little girl for a long time," I said with a sigh. "I have let you decide too many things about my life. I am married now...and I am resigned to wait until Erik is ready to come here. However long it takes. But I won't rush him into it like our marriage. He will come here when he is ready, and I will tell him about the baby only then."

I gave him a stern look, making sure he understood that I was serious.

"Oh, but you must allow me to contrive a little. After all," he grinned suddenly, "your husband cannot miss your thirty-first birthday party, now can he?"

I groaned, "Please do not remind me of my advancing age! I don't need a party, Papa. Please-"

"Hush, now," he said sternly. "You have bought a house...it is an enormous house, and it is made for a party. It's only going to be for family. And I told Erik once, he is a member of this family. I will go and speak with him tomorrow, and invite him."

"Papa..."

"No," he shook his head. "He needs some sense kicked into him. I'm not going to be condescending, but I am going to tell him what I think of his...treatment...of my only daughter."

"Leave him be," I said, but knew that he wouldn't. My father had never been able to leave anything alone. It was like baiting a bull with a red flag. His horns were already sharpened, and I had the distinct urge to go tell Erik to guard his backside.

Erik, was not going to be pleased.

Not one bit.


	14. You Might Just Get What You Want

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

He wasn't going to take a hint. Or an order. My father was bound and determined to talk to Erik, so I made him take another tour with me, and he promised this time he would actually look, rather than turn a blind eye to the entire situation.

"It is impressive, Laure," he admitted. "But why Paris? Why don't you want to stay close to us? I understand you wanted to leave Corsica, especially after what happened. I think Nicolas will be leaving and going to England, possibly in the next three years. I have no desire to live there, but Cherbourg is only as far as Ajaccio is to Marseilles. I wanted to purchase a house for you and Erik-"

"No," I said firmly. "Erik is a man of independent means. He doesn't want you buying anything for him."

"But-"

"Papa," I warned lightly. "He is a proud man. He has had to be, with all the things he has gone through."

"He can't support you forever," he sighed. "I don't know what he plans on doing..."

I waved my hand in front of his face quickly, "I do. Come, let me show you."

I led him into the workroom again and gestured broadly.

"He's going to work again," I said confidently. "He's going to be an architect, as soon as I can get him here, and he chooses his materials. I wouldn't presume to do it for him, I'd have no idea what to buy. But I do know he wants to do it, and his former assistant has found someone to work under him, if he agrees. And I want him to work here in Paris. I think it will be better for him, at first. Nicolas has the opportunity to work with his father, and I think that would be a wonderful thing. He's devoted his life to shipbuilding, but it won't hurt him to learn another trade. If he's willing."

He glanced around the room, his brows raised, and a look of appreciation on his face. I could tell he was pleased that I was making my own plans for Erik, even if he wasn't clued in on them yet.

"This other room," I said, opening the doors to the adjoining study, "is just for him...to do as he pleases. He can recreate his little cave in here, if he likes it so much. I do have plans for this spot right here, though," I said, pointing to the spot between two wall sconces above the massive marble fireplace.

"A painting?" he asked, smiling.

"Definitely," I grinned at him. "And fighting with you is keeping me from finishing it."

"Are we fighting?" he asked, bemused. "This seems remarkably calm compared to some of our other rows."

"Hmmm," I laughed a little. "You could be right."

He gave me a hug then, and I felt relief that he was going to be accepting, if not stubborn where Erik was concerned. I wasn't going to protest him inviting Erik here. The worst he could do is refuse, and I desperately wished he would come. My birthday was in two days. I hadn't thought about it much, and I really didn't care to remember that I was a year older, but at least I had married before I passed the three decade mark.

"Will you tell him that I want him to come?" I asked softly. "Tell him he doesn't have to stay, but I do want him to come."

"I will," he promised. "Now, I suppose you'd like to go finish your painting," he said with a sigh.

I smiled sheepishly, "I promise, once its finished, you will have my undivided attention."

"Go on, then. I have a party to plan."

Before I secluded myself in my studio I went in search of my mother. Unsurprisingly, she was in the kitchen, arranging an astonishing amount of food into the pantry and moving dishes into cabinets with such speed that I merely stopped and stared for several moments.

"Mother?"

She spun around, a loaf of bread in one hand, and a silver serving pitcher in the other.

"Yes?" she asked breathlessly, her hair unkempt, her face flushed red.

"You shouldn't be doing all this," I scolded her, and took the tray from her.

"Who else will?" she asked blankly.

I laughed, "Well, I should be, I suppose. I guess Nina didn't want to come. Where is Oman?"

"Keeping an eye on things. We'll send him here once we return. Your father has appointed Joshua to continue to manage the crew while he is gone. I think he's going to hire an entire cargo ship to move our things to Cherbourg," she sighed. "I really am looking forward to a new house after all these years, but we did have many happy memories there, didn't we?"

"We did," I smiled. "And now, you're going to be a grandmother again. How is that for a reward?"

Her face lit up, "Oh, Laure. I'm so happy for both of you. I knew when I saw him holding you on the porch...and I touched his hand...he looked so...," she frowned, "...so frightened. Confused. I don't think I've ever seen such pain in a man's eyes. He really doesn't expect much out of other people, does he?"

"No," I whispered softly. "He hasn't had a good life."

"He'll come around," she smiled tremulously. "He wants this...he wants you. Just let him come around on his own."

I sighed, "He's going to get a visit from Papa tomorrow."

"Would you like me to talk him out of it?"

"No," I said slowly. "I want him to come here. Maybe seeing it will change his mind. Say a prayer for me, and him. I miss him, and I want him here with me."

"Do yourself a favor then, dear, and hire a cook," she said softly. "Nothing will get him to stay faster than the promise of a decent meal every day."

I smiled.

Food was her answer for everything. In the coming months, it would be mine as well.

---------------------

By the time I finally got back upstairs to begin painting, it was nearly two in the afternoon. The light was still good inside, and I sat, looking at what I had completed the previous evening. I knew in my heart...and yes, this came from my heart...that my subject was beautiful. I had chosen something that had struck me like thunder, and had clung to me with surprising tenacity. Erik would be quite unprepared for this, I realized, and I could only hope he appreciated what I was trying to do for him. If he didn't...well...I had painted from my heart...and that was the best I could do.

Instead of my usual airy...light brush strokes, I channeled my inner pain, and created something he would respond to, rather than what I would normally do. This was for him, and him alone.

_...paint me something...something for me, and me only, and I will play you a song that will make your heart weep..._

Those words from my wedding day had not quite left me, and I wanted to hear him play music. Desperately. He was my husband...a skilled, genius at an instrument...yet the only one I'd ever heard him play had been my mother's out of tune piano.

He might not remember what he had told me, but I did, and planned on hearing that song...whatever it was. Maybe he would even sing to me.

As I formed the lone figure in the painting, my eyes began to brim with tears as I felt a stabbing of pain and longing inside my heart. I missed him terribly. I hoped my father could talk sense into him. Or knock it into him.  
I wouldn't allow him to manage other parts of my life, but I couldn't beg Erik again, and he was still being stubborn and reclusive. I wanted to beat him not half as much as I wanted to hug him.

I painted until my back ached, and my stomach growled in protest from never having eaten. I felt a burst of panic then, because I had been neglectful of the life growing inside of me. I quickly put my brushes away and went downstairs, only to see Nicolas and my father carrying a large table into Erik's workroom.

"What is this?" I asked suspiciously.

"A drafting table," Nicolas grunted, maneuvering the table through the door.

"Papa..."

"Hush, girl. Nicolas bought this," he barked at me.

I closed my mouth, seeing how heavy it was, and appreciating the beauty and stateliness of it. Erik would love it. They moved it into the center of the room, and Nicolas disappeared then returned with a large box of various drafting instruments, which he arranged on the table in haphazard fashion.

"He's going to love it," I said proudly, and reached out to hug him.

"Will you let me arrange it, Mother? He can change the room if he wants, but I'd like to surprise him with it," he said, his eyes pleading with me.

"Of course, but you shouldn't use your own money," I said disapprovingly.

"I want to. Its my gift to him. I have more than enough," he declared.

"Don't overdo it, son," I warned. "You can buy whatever you like, but don't spend all your money. He may reimburse you for everything. Or perhaps give you an allowance."

"No," he frowned, then glanced at my father. "I heard about your idea of me working for him, and I've decided to do it. You're right, shipbuilding has been my obsession for a long time, but another trade won't hurt me. I still plan on going to England, but I want to stay here for a couple more years. Working on this sort of thing can only help me, right?"

"Right," I smiled at him. "You talked yourself into a day off. Why don't you take the rest of today, and tomorrow, and do whatever you like?"

"No more chores?" he asked slowly.

"For now," I said cautiously. "You are far from being out of trouble, young man."

He gave me a chagrined look, "Thank you for the temporary respite then. I have more shopping to do." He left us alone, and I looked again at the massive desk.

"Erik _will_ like it, won't he?" my father asked softly.

"Yes. Especially since he knows Nicolas bought it," I sighed. "Have you eaten today? I swear I could smell something cooking..."

I turned towards the kitchen, feeling a little disoriented as I made my way to the delicious aroma coming from the stove.

"I was wondering if you were going to come down," my mother said, looking at me severely. "You have to take better care of yourself. No more missed meals."

I hadn't noticed...I supposed I shouldn't be surprised that she had.

I sat gratefully and let her cater to me, sighing in relief when I took a bite of the rich, thick stew.

"You can't leave," I swung around on her with my spoon. "Please don't leave me. We need you."

"We?" my mother chuckled.

"_We_," I said, and pressed a hand to my stomach.

"You can't cook for yourself." It wasn't a question.

She was being kind. I shouldn't cook for myself. It should be an actual law.

"We'll send for Nina," I said quickly, but she was already shaking her head.

"Nina won't leave Corsica. She didn't want to go to Marseilles. You'll have to find someone here."

I sighed, "They are not going to like working for me while I'm carrying. Do you remember how terrible I was with Nicolas?"

She grimaced a little, "Indeed. It was the main reason you moved to your own house, with your own maid."

I knew I hadn't been easy to get along with then. I had felt a little spoiled, getting a lot of attention while I was pregnant, but had been miserable at the same time. I wondered how Erik was going to tolerate me, and felt a little guilty when I thought about how I had insinuated that I had merely used him for sex. Perhaps that was a result of my ill tempered disposition while I was pregnant, or perhaps it was the calculated and cruel methods of a wife defending what was hers.

In any case, he wasn't going to be as happy about the news as he thought he was.


	15. The White Flag

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I wasn't altogether surprised to see Vincent Bourne step through the mirror frame. Not really. After all, I had married his daughter, taken her from the only home she had ever known, then seemingly abandoned her in a city she had never been to.

Those weren't major points in my favor.

We stared at each other for several moments, then he made his way down to me near the fireplace.

"Erik, I would like a word with you," he said in a resolute manner. "You force me to do this, and I had hoped that it would never come to this."

"And what," I asked softly, "precisely is your meaning?"

"I told you before you married my daughter, that she would always remain my daughter. Do you remember?"

"Of course," I said, feeling apprehension slide up another notch.

"_This_...," he gestured around my home, "is _un_acceptable. I gave you my only daughter, with my complete and sincere blessing...and _this_ is what I find when I get to Paris? Have you any idea the hopes I had for this marriage?"

I stood abruptly, and set my book down, "Vincent, you knew the sort of man I was. You admitted you knew my faults. Why does _this_," I pointed at the lake, "surprise you so much?"

"Because I had hoped, that giving you something you obviously wanted, would make you happy!" he snapped. "Because I made my daughter happy, and I thought you would be smart enough to take what she offers!"

Smart enough? I frowned.

"It is true, if I had the choice of husband for my daughter, he would have been someone as different from you as night and day. Someone with warmth, and feeling. Someone with a sense of humor, and not ice to the very core. A friend, and a companion to my daughter, and a role model for Nicolas. But I did not choose you. Laure chose you, and I have always known she was in love with you. Her judgment was good enough for me, and I have supported her in every way," he said quietly. "I will always be grateful for what you did for her in Persia. I will always love Nicolas, and have no regrets about who sired him. But I am very much coming to regret forcing you two together as I did."

My heart plummeted, and I flinched inwardly from each word spoken.

_Someone with warmth and feeling? A sense of humor, a friend and companion. A role model._

I was none of those things.

_Ice to the very core_.

I felt like that now. Like a weight of ice had settled inside my body, and was sending rivers of freezing water throughout my veins.

"I'm not like other men-"

"I did not ask you to be like other men!" he said savagely. "I asked you to treat her right, and love her, and nothing else! Right now, you have done neither!"

"That's a lie!" I roared back at him, "I love her more than I have ever loved anyone! Do you think I want to be like this? Do you think I want to _look_ like this? Or live like a rodent? I want none of those things, yet I have come to expect even less!"

His face released its anger, and he began to look pleased at my response.

What had I said?

That I loved her. Yes. I did love her.

"She loves you," he said slowly, "you love her. Am I missing a part of some great equation? The only thing standing in your way...appears to be you. Laure is a lovely young woman, she has purchased a beautiful house, has furnished it to suit _your_ tastes, has created a world inside...all in _your_ interest. Nicolas has even contributed to a certain room that he is eager for you to see, and approve of. Plans have been made for you, Erik, and you haven't even been aware of them."

"She has not invited me," I said, my heart racing a million miles an hour.

Was he speaking the truth? I was not unaware of his matchmaking from before. I would not concede defeat unless I knew he was telling me the truth.

"She doesn't need to invite you. It is _your_ house. In any case, she wants you there, and Nicolas does too. I've never cared about what you looked like," he said gently. "I have never wanted you to conform, and become a normal man. You are not normal, in any way. I wouldn't want you to be. Why would you want to change, when you were obviously made to be something far more than _normal_? My daughter recognized it...that is what drew her to you, and has kept you within her mind for all these years. Do you not agree, then, that there is a benefit of being decidedly_ different_...but no worse...than a _normal_ man?"

"I am not warm and kind," I said quietly. "I am certainly not a great role model. As for a sense of humor...well...there isn't much in my life I find amusing enough to laugh at, and I would not dare to call myself a great_ friend_ to _anyone. _I assure you...I have feelings. They are not often acknowledged, or even important, but I do have them."

"The funny thing about family, Erik, is they have a way of changing a man. The wonderful thing about having a family that _loves_ you, and _cares _about you, is that whatever flaws you see in yourself, they do not dwell on, or often notice. Laure and Nicolas love you, and care about you. Are you going to let this," he gestured to the cave, "stand in your way? Warmth and kindness is not something you have been shown, but dare I say that they are welcome? And you can change your image, into whatever you like. I've been told you are a great architect. If this theater is evidence of your skill, I wonder why you have wasted it, but it is not my place to judge you."

I stared at him, dry mouthed, and feeling a bit breathless. And suddenly close to raw and vicious tears. He had contradicted himself several times today...berating me in one second, and uplifting me in the next. Why was I so consciously seeking his approval? I did not need it, and it certainly would not help my cause with his daughter, yet...yet I wanted it.

Just as I wanted to make Laure happy.

I had failed miserably.

"What...what do I need to do?" I whispered, my eyes lowering to the floor.

"Her thirty-first birthday is tomorrow."

My head shot up, and I felt a sinking feeling enter my heart.

Birthday?

"I am having a small gathering...at _your_ estate. _I expect you to be present._ Laure has asked me to tell you that she does want you there. She says you do not _have_ to stay, if that is your wish, but she wants you to be there," he said firmly. "_I _think...you should gather your things, take them with you when you leave here tomorrow, and never set foot inside this place again."

-------------------------

Her birthday. I was not prepared for this. I hadn't had a very pleasant experience with birthdays, and I had avoided even _discussing _them for my entire life. My mind shied away from the memory of my mother and the kiss, and the _face. _That awful monster I had seen in the mirror, and soon realized was just me.

I prowled the streets of Paris, searching, searching, searching.

Birthdays invariably led to birthday presents, did they not? I had no idea what to buy her. Indeed, I had no idea what she would_ like._ She had wanted to know everything about me, and I had listed many things in rapid succession, unsure why she would want to know such insipid details of my life, but quite willing to share them. Yet, I knew nothing about her.

The knowledge shamed me.

I had used her body, taken her heart, usurped her life...and I didn't know anything about _her._ I knew she appreciated beauty...and art...but what of jewelry, or even chocolates...what about trinkets and what nots that women were so fond of?

I found myself standing outside a jewelers, looking at a display case full of beautiful, gaudy, glittering diamonds. Not her. Definitely not her. I glanced beyond the window, but could see nothing.

There were people inside, and I pulled my hat low over my head, and tugged my collar higher, and stepped through the door.

Not the utter pandemonium I expected, but the clerk did give me a startled look as I moved closer. There was a couple inside, deeply involved in studying rings. They did not glance up at me, and I turned my back to them, intent on finding something and leaving.

"Monsieur, may I help you?" the clerk inquired nervously.

"I am looking for something for my wife," I said in a low and troubled voice. "Her birthday."

"Ah," he nodded, "I will find something beautiful for her then."

He made a few inquiries about her, such as her complexion, facial features, whether she was slender or not, and her eye color.

"Hazel, but can change from blue to green," I said quietly.

"Does she wear any other jewelry?"

"Only her wedding ring. It matches this one," I answered, and showed him my hand.

He studied it a moment and pursed his lips.

"I believe I have something in mind. One moment, please," he said briskly, then moved to the display case and removed a necklace.

He dangled it before me, and swept his hand beneath it, showing me a beautiful aquamarine and diamond starburst pendant necklace, on a long silver chain. I held it in front of my ring, examining the simple beauty and the sheer elegance of it. It suited her, and complemented the ring nicely. And it wasn't so fancy that she could not wear it whenever she pleased.

"Yes," I said quickly. "This one."


	16. Wishes

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

Nadir arrived the next evening to pick me up in his carriage, and I slid damp palms along my trousers, wishing I had refused...wishing I could crawl under a rock...wishing I were going anywhere but to a bloody _birthday_ party. I leaned back against the carriage and closed my eyes, not wanting to talk, not wanting to think, and certainly not wanting to see the amusement lurking in his dark eyes as he noticed my nervousness.

We went from the grandeur of Paris, through slums, then a nicer section of town, until finally we entered the sixteenth arrondissement. We even passed the de Chagny estate, but thankfully we kept going until it was but a mere memory as we went farther and farther towards the Bois.

It really was considered outside of Paris, I realized, as we turned down a hedgerow then entered a stately entrance, lined with trees and gravel. The park beyond was wooded, and I could make out the hint of a dark, looming house at the end, seeming to be lit from within at every window.

The trees receded, and suddenly we were looking at the enormous house, or rather, I was looking...out the window. Nadir had descended from the carriage and was waiting patiently as my eyes absorbed every stone, every window...it was an arresting and commanding structure, and it was indeed something that suited me.

Dark, formidable.

Yet, with the windows lit like they were, it was like seeing actual life within.

We stood awkwardly at the massive, scarred oak doors, and I could see that they had been acquired from some distant chateau, or even an English castle. If Jules had built this, he had done a remarkable job combining the old and the new.

Nadir knocked sharply on the door after giving me a glare for not just going inside, and the door swung open to reveal Nicolas, smiling and welcoming as he leaned forward and embraced me.

"I thought you'd never get here," he whispered. "You're late."

"I am? I thought it was to begin at seven."

"No, Father. You are simply late," he said dryly. "But it doesn't matter. You're here now, and thats all that matters, right Mother?"

I turned my head sharply to see Laure hesitating in the doorway of what I assumed was a parlor. Her face was pale, her mouth unsmiling, but her eyes were soft and full of life. We stared at each other for what seemed like forever before she smiled and said, "Thats right, Nicolas."

We all stood there, and I was unsure of what to say, or what to do. Should I take her in my arms, as I wanted to? Or should I slink off into the shadows and pretend that they would all be content to ignore me?

"Well," Vincent boomed from behind all of us, "are we going to get to eat tonight, or what?"

I inclined my head, and was pulled through the entryway by Nicolas, barely able to take in stone floors and elaborate ceilings of the great hall, and catching a glimpse of a grandiose staircase leading into massive balconies with gilded inlay around the cornice work. The dining room was set elegantly, food covering nearly every square inch of the table. Clare was bustling around with a plate of something, and caught my eye, giving me a cheerful smile for some reason. My mouth began to water as I stood, looking at the excessive display of food.

It had been too long since I had eaten anything of substance.

When I turned my head, my wife was staring at me, a small smile on her face and doubt flickering in her eyes. I turned off every thought and whisper that said I was not welcome here. She was not sure_ I_ wanted to be here. I had told her that I wanted to be alone, and she had respected it.

I didn't tell her that I was a fool, but suspected she already knew.

I managed to smile back for a moment, before Clare ordered us all to sit, and we served ourselves to the spread of food on the table.

It was an informal gathering, with only her parents, Nicolas, Nadir, and myself, but as conversation passed around the table, I began to feel more and more isolated. Her father and Nicolas were teasing her mercilessly about her advancing age, and her mother was defending her with indignation.

"Thirty one is not old!" Clare insisted, "I'll have you know, I was still attracting the attention of every man within miles while I was barely thirty five! You remember, Vincent?"

He scowled, "How could I not? It isn't every day a man is told that his wife is tempting half the crew, as well as the clergymen in the village."

"Oh, you are _lying_! I never even spoke to the clergymen!"

"It was not your voice, dear, that was tempting," he chuckled. "I believe it was-"

"That," she said, flushing a deep red, "is quite enough!"

"You brought it up," he reminded her. "I was just having a little fun with Laure. You instigated the remainder of that conversation."

She sat back in her chair, turning even redder. "I was merely trying to say that thirty one is not old."

Nicolas caught my eye and winked, "And yet, you are thirty five, Father. When may we tease you about _your_ advancing age?"

The question I had been prepared for, and had dreaded. I was not sure when my birthday actually was, but I did remember it being cooler that time of year, but not quite winter. I also knew my mother had married in November, and that my father had died in May. She had been roughly five or six months pregnant when he died.

"By my calculations, I was probably born sometime in August," I said quietly. "Possibly early September."

Conversation ceased. Smiles and laughter came to an abrupt halt. Nadir narrowed his eyes at me, and probably would have kicked me under the table if everyone had not been staring our direction. Laure, seated directly across from me looked mortified by my declaration, and Nicolas had the look of someone who had just committed a grave sin.

I cursed myself for my stupidity. Why hadn't I just made up a date?

August twenty eighth would have been as good as any. Or even September first.

"I'm sorry, Father," Nicolas whispered. "I should have known...after what you told me...I'm sorry..."

"Its fine, Nicolas," I said quickly. "I meant no hard feelings by it. Forget I have even opened my mouth."

I glanced back and Laure, but she was staring down at her plate, her face pale and drawn looking. I reached across the table and tapped her hand lightly.

"Happy birthday, Laure," I said softly. "And I am _not_ going to be ribbed about _my_ age. Nicolas has already called me an old man on one occasion, and I trust," I gave him a mocking smile, "it will not be repeated until I am at least sixty."

Nicolas seized the lifeline I had tossed him, "Well, we will have to see about that. I don't think I can resist at least one or two jokes on your account."

I managed to smile, and looked back at Laure, who also smiled slowly, relieved apparently that I was not too terribly offended by being invited to a birthday party, when I lacked an actual birthday.

"Well," Clare said brightly, rising from her chair. "Who's ready for cake?"

She disappeared through a large door into what I assumed was the kitchen, then returned with a two layer chocolate cake, complete with a large candle in the center. She put it in front of Laure and cleared away several dishes then replaced them with clean ones.

Nicolas leaned across the table and lit the candle, "Now, you must make a wish."

Her eyes widened for a moment, then turned to me. She gazed at me a moment, and I felt the shock of desire enter me as her eyes took on a dark and mysterious allure. They slid closed, and her mouth formed a circle as she blew gently and extinguished the flame.

Oh, that mouth. I shifted in my chair, remembering what that mouth had done to me last time.

Then her eyes opened, and she smiled directly at me.

Somehow I knew what she had wished for.


	17. From My Heart

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

I could have gladly died when Nicolas had made that near fatal blunder. I had not even considered that Erik might not know his birth date. He hadn't known his real last name. He did know his mother's name. _Madeleine._ Unless he wished it, I would not give that name to even one of our children. My father ushered us into the parlor where we had been waiting while Erik had been dallying forever in his carriage.

"Now, Laure, it is time for the gifts to be exchanged. I hope you haven't been peeking," he said with a scolding look.

"Do I ever?" I asked with perfect innocence.

He gave me an exasperated look and handed me a large box, which I tore into with all the eagerness of a child. Erik was watching me with an arrested look on his face as I dug deep inside and pulled out... I drew my hand back suddenly, when I encountered something soft, warm, and moving. My eyes shot down to the box, and looking back at me was a set of soul wrenching chocolate eyes...complete with long ears and a long nose, and shining red hair.

"Papa..."

"I had you fooled, didn't I?" he said, grinning. "You thought that set of art supplies was your gift? More fool you. I think I may have actually got one over on you this time."

I lifted the puppy out gingerly, and he stared back at me with a woeful expression on his face. Then he tilted his head back, and the most awful sound emerged as he protested his captor's scrutiny.

We all laughed, including Erik. I held the puppy close, grimacing slightly as its wet tongue found my cheek, then passed him off to Nicolas.

He had never really expressed interest in owning a dog, although he fed every stray around the village, as did I. It seemed now we would both get our chance.

"Where on earth did you find an Irish Setter?" I asked, scratching him behind one ear.

"There are always places to get dogs," he said confidently. "Now, I believe he is some sort of sporting breed, if you like that sort of thing, Erik."

Erik's eyes widened, "Me? No. I have never been able to harm animals."

Nicolas jostled the dog in his arms, then handed him to Erik, who promptly turned him onto his back and scratched his stomach with a slow and lazy finger. The dog positively went limp with delight in his arms and moaned pitifully as he was scratched and petted.

It seemed perhaps the art supplies were my present, after all.

Nicolas handed me a smaller box, containing a set of poetry by Sappho, as well as a bottle of perfume. I gave him a hug, "Thank you, Nic. And thank you, Papa, and Mother."

I turned to look at Erik, and he was bending to set the puppy on the floor, where he proceeded to immediately tug at his pants leg in typical puppy fashion. Erik reached into his coat and produced a sleek black box, and handed it to me, careful not to meet my eyes.

"For me?" I whispered, taking the cool wooden box.

"Who else?" he murmured, and stepped back.

I opened it, and my mouth fell open when I saw the beautiful necklace, a breathtaking blue-green gemstone in the center, with a dazzling array of diamonds on all sides. My hands lifted it out, trembling slightly, and I heard my mother gasp behind me.

"Its exquisite," I said softly. I looked at Erik, and his eyes were on me at last, a hopeful expression on his face. "Thank you, Erik. I love it. Nicolas...would you mind?" I asked, lifting my hair and handing him the necklace.

He placed it around my neck and fastened it, and my hand reached up to touch it, surprised at how much Erik had spent on something for me.

I turned and gave Nicolas a hug, then my parents, for their gift, who was now whining from somewhere deep inside the house, and at last turned to _him. _

My husband, who now, at last stood in our home. He didn't take his eyes off mine as I crossed the room to embrace him, and I felt my heart beating wildly inside as he clasped his arms about me and pulled me tightly to him. I let out a sigh...a deep and long sigh that spoke volumes for the relief I felt, and the sheer happiness that was threatening to cause me to start crying.

"Thank you," I managed to whisper, although I could barely stand, and could not breath with his arms around me.

I had missed him...oh, how I had missed him! He was everything I had ever wanted, and I had him now...hopefully...and he would not leave again. I wouldn't let him go. He was going to have to drag me away with him if I could not persuade him to stay.

"Laure," he sighed against me, and pressed a kiss to my temple. "Laure, you are most welcome."

We heard the puppy begin crying louder, and a loud crash from the hallway. We jumped apart, giving each other an embarrassed look as my mother left the room, and immediately began scolding the poor thing for knocking over something of great importance.

"Well, I think I am off to bed," my father sighed. "I'll deal with the pup first. I think he'll be comfortable in the stable for tonight. I'll see you all in the morning. Goodnight."

He swept out of the room and rescued the puppy from my mother and her irritation. Nadir disappeared, leaving me, and Erik, and Nicolas.

"We...we are glad you came," I whispered tightly, and took possession of one of his hands. _"I_ am glad you came."

He nodded, and his eyes closed for a moment.

"Would you like a partial tour?" I asked softly. "It is rather late, or I would offer the entire house, but I think there are a couple of rooms that might interest you."

He nodded again, and I could tell he wondered if one of them might be a bedroom. If Nicolas had not been present...and so very nervous about the surprise he had prepared, I might have laughed.

Nicolas led the way to the workroom, and pushed the doors open wide. He glanced at me hesitantly, then stepped aside for his father to enter the room. The look on Erik's face was priceless. He gaped at the drafting table, and the tools laid out for him, as well as the massive desk Nicolas had purchased, and the arrangement of chairs near it. He had almost everything he needed to begin designing again. Nicolas had conferred with an architect where he had purchased his materials, and had gotten only the very best of equipment and drawing tools for his father.

"Nicolas did this for you," I said softly. "This is to be your workroom, if you will accept it."

He turned around to look at me in disbelief, "You really want me to build again?"

"Only if it is what you want," I replied. "I want you to be content."

"And if it _is _what you want, Father, I would like to work for you until I go build ships in England," Nicolas said quietly from the doorway.

"I...I don't know what to say," he stammered, and turned to look at the room again.

He moved around it slowly, touching his desk, his papers...things Nicolas had bought for decoration like lamps and a small bronze of the Colosseum. I had contributed nothing to this room. My only contribution was in the next room, and it was nothing like this. He wandered around completely, taking in everything until he stood before Nicolas again, and embraced him fiercely.

"Yes, it is what I want," he said raggedly. "I would be honored to have you work for me, son."

"Thank you, Father," Nicolas said over his shoulder, his eyes meeting mine and bright with tears.

They parted roughly, each of them struggling to control emotions that had been threatening to spill over all evening. When Erik finally turned to look at me, Nicolas disappeared altogether from the room and pulled the doors closed behind him.

"I still don't know what to say," he whispered. "I didn't expect this..."

"We want you to stay with us," I said softly. "I want you. You don't have to do anything, ever again if you don't want to, but please stay. I have missed you terribly."

"Laure," he mumbled my name, as if speaking it had suddenly proven to difficult.

"I want to show you something now," I said softly. "It isn't as much to take in as all this," I gestured around the room, "but I believe you will like it."

I moved to the doors that opened into the adjoining study and stepped through them, waiting for him to follow. Once he had, I carefully lit the wall sconces, and beckoned him closer.

To observe the painting, that had come strictly from my heart.


	18. Past the Point of No Return

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

My first reaction was of raw and naked desire. If she considered the scene in the harem indecent...how in the world would she explain _this? _Yet, she was fully clothed...and that realization brought about another sort of shock. I stared, and stared, then looked up to the woman that had surely just been ravished...the clothing slightly askew, and an expression of sated bliss on her face.

_Laure's face._

_Amnita's_ _dress._

My wife...and she had captured perfectly the essence of Amnita...if Don Juan had ever made her look like _that._

"I think I'll call it...Aminta-_Debauched_. Or maybe Don Juan-_Triumphed_. What do you think? No longer the epitome of innocence, is she?"

I stared more at the painting...at the bold crimson that seemed tame in comparison to the woman in the dress, her limbs artlessly tangled in the folds of a man's cape...Don Juan's, I realized, and a slim hand reaching out to somewhere beyond the painting, while the other held the black domino mask.

I lifted my hand toward it, but she touched my arm, "Its still wet. You'll damage it."

My hand curled into a fist and returned to my side. I felt her hand on me, and turned my head toward her. Her eyes were wide and bright in the light from the wall, her face hopeful and expectant.

"I think, Madame Sagesse, I may faint from lack of blood flow," I murmured.

"Do you like it?" she whispered. "This is _the one_...for you. Only for you."

"Ah," I said. "I believe I owe you something, do I not?"

"Not tonight," she said softly. "I will let you have all the time in the world you need for that. But I very much want to hear you play."

"A reprieve then?" I asked slowly, and delighted in the smile and subsequent blush that traced her features.

"A...yes...a reprieve," she said in a low and suddenly husky voice.

"I am rather fond of them," I said softly, and reached down to possess her hand. I brought it to my lips, palm up, and pressed a kiss there. "Especially when they are given in such a passionate manner."

She became more embarrassed, if possible, and lowered her eyes to my chest. I stepped closer to her, and traced my fingers over her face, across her brows, down her nose, and cupped her sweet chin as I brushed my thumb across her mouth. It parted slightly, her eyes closing completely, and I nearly groaned when her tongue brushed against it, and she drew it fully inside her mouth.

Her hand moved up to clutch my wrist, and she sucked on my thumb with seductive intent, her teeth scraping against my knuckle, her tongue swirling around in shameless circles. Her mouth released my thumb, only to trail down to my palm and blaze kisses there, using teeth, and tongue, and lips.

I sucked in a breath that had been denied me, and slid my hand from her mouth to her cheek, and pulled her to me, my mouth on hers at last, and her tongue doing to mine what she had done to my finger.

I would not say that she yielded to me. Or I to her. We were both caught up in the kiss, both of us unaware that a world existed beyond the outside of the room. Each of us lost in each other, in the reacquaintance of touch, of smell, of taste.

I knew that if I did not stop, she was going to be looking much like Amnita in a few moments, and I had not made love to her in a real bed...in a very long time. I set her away from me, breathing as harshly as she, and gave her a shaking smile.

"We had best not go any farther," I said softly. "I have a suspicion Nicolas is lurking about, and I really do not want to embarrass all of us."

She nodded, but I could tell she was disappointed. I turned to look around the rest of the room, surprised to find that it was completely empty.

"Oh," she said sharply. "I have not even explained...this is to be your private study. I did not want to furnish it, I wanted you to choose everything for yourself. But this is your room."

"Mine?" I repeated.

"Yes. Of course, you can have any room in this house, except for the ballroom," she said hastily. "That is where my studio is."

"This is a majestic home," I said softly. "I am sorry I offended you by not immediately sharing it with you. I was not sure I would be welcome, especially after you visited me the other night."

"You were very welcome here," she said with a slow smile. "I hope you like it."

"I do," I managed with a surprisingly calm voice. "I do like it."

"Jules Bernard...he recommended it. He thinks that if you are willing...there is a mason that would like to work under you," she said it casually, but I noticed her hands were clenching now. "Come, sit. We really do need to talk."

She led me back into the room with the drafting table and sat on a couch near the blazing fire in the hearth. She patted the cushion beside her, and dutifully I sat down, waiting with a pounding heart until she felt the need to speak again.

"I promised myself I wouldn't place any pressure on you," she began nervously. "I told myself I wouldn't ask any questions, or force you to remain here, if you were still uncertain. I couldn't take it if you suddenly changed your mind at some point in the future...yet...I know with great conviction what I want. The only thing I do not know, is what you want. So I am going to ask a question, and can only hope that I hear what _I _want, and that it is what _you_ also want," her eyes flickered with doubt for a moment, and she drew in a deep breath. "Do you want to stay?"

"Yes."

Laure released the breath she had been holding, and her eyes immediately began to fill with tears. Her trembling hands reached for me, and I pulled her close, tucking her head against my shoulder, my cheek resting against the top of her head. I stroked her hair, her back, my arms tightening around her until I felt as if a shaking that had entered my limbs would not cease until I had made us into one.

"I'm sorry," I whispered against her hair. "I never meant to hurt you, Laure. I...I do love you. I don't know what you saw inside my home...I am certain you seen everything. I hope, I really hope you can forget it all. I don't deserve this, or you, or even Nicolas. But I am sorry."

"Forgiven," she said in a strangled voice. "Not for anything in your home, because there was nothing wrong...but I forgive you for needing the time you did, even though I wanted to scream, and cry, and slap you. I suppose I should apologize as well, for being cruel and for making you think I didn't want you, and was only interested in your money. I hope you can accept this house, that I bought with you strictly in mind, and stay with me and Nicolas, and..."

She stopped speaking, and made a soft sound of surprise in her throat, and laughed delicately in my arms. I moved my head away to look at her, and her eyes were bright and beautiful, full of laughter and happiness.

"And what?" I whispered gently.

"I had almost forgotten," she murmured. "I can't believe I almost forgot, possibly the most pleasant surprise you will receive this evening."

She leaned back against the arm of the couch, her body seeming so very far away from mine, and I looked at her questioningly for a moment as she took my hand and moved it towards her. I thought for a moment she meant for me to cover her breast, but she guided my hand instead...to her stomach.

"I have been dreadfully ill every morning," she whispered. "I have been eating everything in sight, I have cleaned this entire house twice, I have begun consuming vast quantities of milk, and obviously painting like mad."

My hand settled firmly against her body, and she closed her eyes as I scooted closer, my knee sliding behind her back as I maneuvered her into my lap.

"Laure," I said softly. "Do you grin foolishly for no apparent reason? I already know how you sleep."

Her answer was a foolish grin, "I _am_ carrying again."

A harsh sound startled me, and I almost turned to see what had made it, and realized it had come from me. I had laughed, and not even realized it. I lifted her into my arms and held her tightly to me.

"I...I can't believe..."

"Nicolas wants a sister," she said subtly.

"A girl?" I managed to say, although was not quite sure how. "I don't...I don't know about a daughter. I thought I would be prepared for this moment...I thought when, or rather, _if_ it happened...I would have something far more clever to say."

"You don't have to say anything. I know it pleases you."

I moved my hand back to her stomach, unable to tell any difference in her body. It had been over a month since we married, and already she was pregnant. If that wasn't enough to make me feel masculine for no reason, then nothing was.

"You have been sick?" I asked cautiously. "Have you been taking anything?"

She shuddered, "Simply smelling anything in the early morning is enough to make me ill. No. I don't take anything. It goes away by noon."

"Where is the kitchen?"

She lifted her eyebrows, "Why?"

"Your kitchen is stocked? Take me to it."

She stood and led me out of the room, past the dining room that had been cleared of dishes, and into an enormous kitchen that spoke of someone who had once lived here and entertained often.

"I don't know what you're looking for...," she trailed, "...and I don't know where anything is. I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to feed you and Nicolas. I simply cannot cook."

I opened the doors closest to the stove and located a basket with ginger root inside. After rummaging some more, I located a few other items and put the kettle on.

"You're making tea?" she asked suspiciously. "I don't care for tea. I prefer coffee."

"Your nausea will stop," I said temptingly. "I promise."

She eyed it when I sat it in front of her on the counter. "Ginger?" she asked, inhaling above it. "And lemon?"

"It is known for having medicinal purposes. Drink it."

She sipped it cautiously, and I waited patiently until she had consumed all of it.

"Drink a cup in the morning, before you begin to feel sick. If it does not help, I can adjust the balance, but I promise it will help," I said gently. I sighed, looking at the picture she made standing before me, in our kitchen. Very domesticate, I thought suddenly, even if she was not a domesticated woman. "I love my painting," I said suddenly. "Has anyone else seen it?"

"No," she said gracefully depositing her cup into the sink. "Unless Nicolas has peeked, no one has seen it. It is for you, and you alone. I...I did not think you would want anyone going into that room once you furnished it, so I assumed that it would be a safe enough place for it."

I paused for a long time, unsure how to explain myself, explain why I had secluded myself from her and Nicolas. I pulled a chair away from the wall and sat down, pulling her onto my knee.

"Laure, I was...am...ashamed. So very ashamed of what I have made of my life so far. I had such hopes when I was younger...I traveled the world, and saw everything imaginable. Some things were beautiful, some things I will never forget, no matter how much I want to. But when I went to Persia...I felt like I lost every bit of humanity inside of me. I punished myself for doing the things I did, and rewarded myself at the same time, by moving underground, by embracing the darkness of my mind. I am ashamed to admit that I lost my sanity, and my will to live. Because I was not always like that...like this. I did have dreams at one time. I had plans...ambition...I wanted to be an architect."

"Giovanni helped you," she said quietly. "Your father."

"Yes, Giovanni," I repeated cautiously. "Then...there was Persia. Before Persia, there was Luciana."


	19. The Cuckoo, You See!

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

As soon as the name left his lips, he pushed me out of his lap and strode back to the stove. I sat down and waited while he composed himself, and he removed his coat and waistcoat and laid them across the back of another chair then began preparing the kettle again. His movements were slow and graceful, but his jaw was clenched tight, and he was no longer looking at me.

"Luciana," he said again, the name rolling off his tongue like a distant dream. "She was Giovanni's daughter. One of four, but she was significant only because of her beauty. Her beauty was only surpassed by the fact that she was spoiled. Completely, utterly, immature. More so than Christine, because she was my age, or a little younger, but she was cruel and selfish, and used whatever method she could contrive to get what she wanted."

His voice had taken on that same flat, emotionless tone he used when he had discussed Giovanni before. Like he could not cast off whatever weight of despair had driven them apart. I had a sinking feeling it had something to do with this creature called Luciana.

"You...you loved her?" I asked softly.

He shrugged negligently, "I was young, and she showed interest in me. She was like Christine...she chose to avoid the bitter reality of truth. She wanted to believe the world was a rainbow, and there to serve her. She thought I was there to serve her, and wanted to pretend there was some mythical god beneath this mask...I still wore the one that covered my entire face, remember? She thought that there must have been someone dreadfully handsome beneath it."

There was, I wanted to say, but I held my peace. He did not want comfort right now. He wanted to tell me something that very obviously had affected him, and led him to stop caring about himself, and give up his dreams.

"Giovanni did not intervene? You spoke fondly of him...he did not deter her?"

"He loved her. Giovanni could not deny her anything..."

My hands gripped each other, and I waited for him to say it. To say what had caused the rift. Somehow, I knew.

"Luciana wanted me to remove the mask...and I thought he would send her off to bed. I thought he might scold her for being rude, and heartless. But he did not. He...he told me to do it as well, and I did. She should have been screaming. If she had been screaming, I would have understood what she was about to do. I was going to make her look, pull her close, so she could see! Instead, she ran from me. We were on a roof, and she fell," he lowered his head to his chest, and crossed his arms there. "She did not survive."

I felt my heart break for him. How many moments were there that had broken _him? _It was amazing at all that _he _had survived. I couldn't imagine being that young, and feeling the guilt of that awful tragedy, pulling you constantly under, making you feel as if you indeed, had no humanity. No wonder he had always looked so miserable and angry in Persia. He had already suffered so much, and had lost all ability to control himself. He had pushed himself away from the laws of man, and begun living in a separate world, indulging in his darkness, using his knowledge from the man he loved to create things that were morbid and depraved, instead of the beautiful things he no doubt had always wanted to build.

"You can't let the guilt continue eating away at you," I whispered. "You did nothing wrong."

He turned to me, his eyes cold and dark, "Giovanni would not even look at me," he said curtly. "He kept his back to me, and I left him there with her body."

"It wasn't your fault," I said, and went to him. "Guilt will drive you to craziness, Erik. You cannot allow this to tear you inside."

"He loved her," he said stiffly.

"Ah, but I suspect he also loved you," I said softly, and brushed his hair out of his eyes. "He loved you, Erik. Just as you love Nicolas."

"The mask-"

"Everyone is entitled to a mistake. He should not have asked you to remove it, and I do not doubt he regretted it, not only because she died, but because he destroyed your trust in him," I said gently. "She was a child, and he should have controlled her better. But you were also a child, and her death cannot be placed on your shoulders."

He was silent.

"Luciana is gone," I persisted. "Giovanni is gone. But it does not mean that you cannot forgive yourself for what happened. And it does not mean that it was your fault."

I hesitated for a moment before I reached up to touch his mask. His eyes closed as I removed it and set it on the counter behind us. I kissed his cheek, his lips, and touched him softly, telling him with my body that he was not undesirable.

"I love you, Erik," I whispered against his mouth.

"I love you," he sighed, but broke away from me.

He was not quite through speaking.

"I hated that I used my talents for death. I hated the khanum, and indeed, hated everything about Persia, especially that monstrosity I built for the shah. I used to dream of going back there one day and destroying his palace. Of killing him, and the khanum. But when Luciana died, I gave up all hope of ever having pride and dignity for myself. I felt like Giovanni abandoned me, when I had trusted him...when I had loved him...he had betrayed me. I couldn't forgive him for that. So when I finally left Persia...and I went in search of you..."

He shrugged again, his arms loosening around me.

"I didn't find anything...I had nothing but wealth, and I did build for awhile with Jules, but my heart was no longer in it. Moving to the theater was like a gift...I could be alone, without actually being alone. If I longed for company, all I had to do was travel upstairs, and could listen to any conversation I pleased. Sometimes I spoke to people, and they had no idea who was speaking with them. That was when the rumors of the Opera Ghost began. Then...then Christine came along," he said flatly. "I was shocked when I saw her...the face...familiar, her voice, beautiful."

My mouth went dry, and I stepped back from him a moment. His face was like granite, and his eyes stared unflinchingly into mine.

"Familiar?" I repeated carefully. "Christine looked like Luciana?"

His eyes widened, and I saw resentment flare into them briefly.

"No. She looked like Madeleine."

Madeleine. His mother. Christine looked like his mother.

The words made no sense for several moments, then the realization dawned on me, that he had been pursuing a woman who looked like his mother.

"Not exactly like her," he said sharply. "I am not perverted, Laure."

"I didn't think you were," I said in a calm voice, although I did not feel it.

"They resembled...somewhat. But don't think it has escaped my attention that I was infatuated with her for the very reason that sickens me. I did not necessarily _desire_ her...I would have desired _any_ woman, if they had ever so much as looked at me," he snorted. "I lost my hold on sanity. I'm sorry. I thought you already knew...if you had seen the photograph of Madeleine which was in my home...you most certainly would have made the connection."

I licked my lips, trying to moisten them with a dry tongue, "I didn't know. It doesn't matter, Eri-"

"It does matter," he snapped. "It most certainly does matter!"

He set me away from him and removed the kettle before it could begin whistling. He poured me another cup of tea and added the same ingredients, then set it on the table carefully. From the expression on his face, I half expected him to slam it down, but he moved with slow and gentleness.

His hands however, were shaking.

I took one, and pressed a kiss there, "You craved attention from a woman who resembled her...a girl actually, because I would not call Christine a woman. You wanted her affection, because your own mother would not give it to you. But Christine gave you, what your mother would not, correct? She kissed you. Your first, I believe, on the face?"

His eyes lowered to the floor, and I took his chin in my hands, and brushed a tear away from the the right side of his face. His eyes closed, and more tears slipped out from the pressure of his lids. I ran my thumbs across his wet lashes, and traced his brow, and the place above his right eye where none had ever grown with my tear soaked thumbs.

"I believe you have punished yourself enough for one lifetime," I whispered. "Certainly enough for tonight. I love you. I do not think there is anything wrong with you, and I will not allow you to carry this weight around any longer. You are to set it free," I commanded him. "You are to let go of this guilt, because you have a family now, and you do not need it. You are to be free, Erik. And there is nothing more rewarding."

I took his mask from the counter and handed it to him, then took his hand and led him from the kitchen, up the stairs, and to the double doors that housed our private sitting room and master bed. His eyes were wide as he set the mask in a chair and reached out to touch me. His hand settled on my shoulder, but slid down to the valley between my breasts. With a slow and delicate touch, his finger traced the neckline of my dress, then lifted the pendant from my skin.

"I love it," I whispered, and looked down at the glinting aquamarine in the darkened room. "Its beautiful."

"Nothing compares to you," he said softly. "Nothing."


	20. Mirrors that Do Not Shatter

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

The weight of guilt fled, for the moment, as I caressed her face with nervous hands. I had not initiated the last three bouts of lovemaking, and I was suddenly anxious as I saw her eyes close in anticipation. I could not have been more shocked by the events of tonight. I was feeling raw inside, like my insides had been opened to them all for examination, and could not shake the sensitivity I felt at all the wonderful things I had seen and heard tonight.

Why had I deprived myself of this for so long?

I think it was because behind every wave of joy for me, tragedy ultimately follows. My relationship with her had been no exception, and I was so very tired of fighting for what was easy for any other man to take. I had not expected her to take me back after I sent her away. I had not expected her to even speak to me once she had seen my home, and I had put Nicolas in danger.

Yet, here I was, holding her, about to kiss her again. Her eyes were still closed as I leaned in to complete the task, and her breath hit my mouth one heartbeat before I our lips met. I inhaled her breath, and stole it right from her mouth as I covered hers with my own, and her eyes opened in shock as I drew in deeper, until no more air was left in her lungs.

I raised my head and swallowed the taste of her, and she inhaled sharply to supply air back to her body.

"That felt strange," she murmured.

"Was it unpleasant?" I asked softly, and touched her lips with my thumb.

"No. Not at all," she replied in a soft and seductive voice.

She turned her back to me, as she had done the last time, and I unbuttoned her dress and helped her out of it, then out of a shift, until she stood before me in the moonlight. I drew her closer to the window so I could see her body in the pale blue light, but could not detect any changes. She was still slender and beautiful.

She laughed softly as I touched her stomach, "You had best enjoy this while it lasts. I am not a very pleasant person when I am pregnant. And I am going to become quite fat."

"Not fat," I corrected automatically. "You are going to be beautiful."

I pulled my shirt across my head and pulled her against my chest, groaning when our skin touched, and her hands slid around my back. Her hands rubbed me for a moment, and I grunted at the pain between my shoulders.

"What is it?" she asked, her hand ceasing to move.

"I've been sleeping on the floor," I said sheepishly. "It is not the thing to do at my _advanced_ age."

She smiled, "You'll be pleased to know that I happen to have a bed. Would you care to see it?"

"To complete the tour?" I asked, "Certainly."

She stepped back toward the bed, the darkness concealing her as I stumbled along after, pulling off my boots and trousers, and anything else that stood in the way of us completing what we had set out to do.

I searched the dark room and thought I saw her in the center of the bed...waiting for me. I took the mask from the chair and placed it on carefully.

"Laure?"

"Come here," she murmured, and I moved towards her on my knees, meeting her with force and hunger, her lips and mine meeting for fleeting moments then finding other interesting places to kiss.

I took the time to love her right, to blow into her ear gently, to kiss and lick the inside of her thigh the way I had been wanting to, and taste her and make her cry against above me. The passion between us was slow, sensual, and we spent what seemed like forever indulging in carnal delights, and shocking pleasure.

If I had not been so starved for her, I would have prolonged the moment indefinitely, but I was not quite as suave as I wanted to believe, and finally joined her body with mine in a desperate attempt to appease my appetite.

I was not certain where the rest of the occupants of the house slept, but I hoped they were far enough away not to hear her. She was_ very _vocal in bed, and I had forgotten how _very_ loud she could get.

"Shh," I murmured, covering her mouth with mine to drown out all sound, put she twisted away from me and continued making those same noises against my ear.

The sound reverberated throughout my body, the noise sending pleasure from my brain to beyond, and heightening my desire.

"You would not attempt to silence me, if you could see what I see," she panted.

It was then I noticed she was not even looking at me, but straight up. I paused mid stroke, "What?"

Her legs drew tightly around me, and pulled me the rest of the way inside. Her eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, and I turned my head up slowly to look.

The stark whiteness of the mask stared down at me, startling me for a moment as I met my own eyes. Then I looked over to hers in the mirror, and saw the expression of sheer lust on her face. I was..._very_ naked...I had not even considered how naked I was, and never thought to cover myself while I was making love to her.

The mirror had to be at least twenty feet up in the air, fixed to the ceiling and surrounded by intricate gilded inlay and cornice work. I was not sure what was brighter though, my bare ass, or the mask.

"Laure-"

I attempted to move, but her legs hooked tighter around me and pulled me back down. I watched that movement.

"Oh."

"You understand?" she murmured. "I can't blame you if you want to remove it later...but I couldn't help myself."

"Indeed."

I looked back down at her this time, and turned her over so that I could look up.

"Indeed," I said again, "this is much better. You may continue."

She chuckled and moved against me and I could not contemplate much else for a very, very brief period of time.

Too brief.

I would have to leave it up there, I decided with a sigh, at least for now.

----------------------

Waking up beneath the mirror, however, was not very pleasant. I flinched as I opened my eyes and saw my red face looking back at me, and I covered it instinctively. She was still sleeping, I could see without turning my head, and I sat up quickly and found my mask, then dressed. I went downstairs to prepared her a cup of tea, and found Clare sitting at the table, holding my coat and waistcoat with a look of confusion on her face.

"Those are mine," I said softly, and she spun around to look at me, her face turning white, then red.

"You scared me half to death!" she whispered. "I think this house is too big. I always feel so alone when I'm back here by myself, and you startled me."

I took them from her and shrugged into them, and poured out the cup of tea Laure had abandoned last night, and began making her another one.

"Is there something I can do for you, Erik?" she asked hesitantly. "I don't mind."

"I'm preparing something for Laure's nausea. To prevent it."

She watched me for a moment, "Ginger and lemon. That doesn't sound as if it will taste very good."

"I wouldn't call it life's greatest pleasure, but it does soothe an upset stomach," I murmured, and offered her some to try.

Her eyes widened, "It isn't bad!"

"Thank you, I think," I said bemused. "I have learned a thing or two in my life."

"You're going to need it," she said dryly. "Unless you can cook, you're in trouble with my daughter. I wouldn't let her in here if I were you. She's a disaster waiting to happen."

"I'm sure we'll find a compromise," I demurred. "She can't be that bad."

Her brow raised, but she said nothing. I excused myself to take her the tea before she woke up and was plagued by sickness. I knew if she could drink it before she began moving around too much, she would feel better. She was still sleeping when I returned, and I roused her gently, making her sit up.

"Erik," she grumbled sleepily. "I didn't disturb you while you were sleeping."

"You were also sleeping," I pointed out. "Do you want to be sick this morning? You're going to have to get up earlier, so we can combat this before it has a chance to get started. Now, drink."

She pouted a little, her lips forming a delicious bow, but she took the cup and sipped obediently, her necklace gleaming in the morning light against her bare skin, her breasts swaying slightly whenever she moved.

"I'm not a feast," she said calmly, and I looked up to see her eyes beginning to become amused.

"If you do not want me to look," I remarked, "you should cover yourself up."

"Perhaps I do not mind," she shrugged, and handed me her empty cup. "I have never been afraid of my nakedness."

"I am beginning to realize that," I said mildly.

Her toes slowly worked the sheet farther down, until it reached her knees.

"What would it take for you to crawl back in here with me for a few more minutes?"

I bit my lip a moment, "You need only ask."


	21. Fulfillment of a Dream

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

I lured him back to bed, but he did only stay a few minutes, and he would not be lured into anything other than holding me for a few moments, although he did touch me and admit that he was very tempted to continue.

"I would hate for your stomach to revolt," he said with a grim smile. "I do not think I could explain myself to your parents, and I would really rather not experience that particular intimacy with you again."

I winced. I had gotten sick on the ship and some of it had transferred to him. Wordlessly I stood and dressed, and for a few moments I did wonder if I was going to have to order him to leave the room, but it gradually went away as I began moving around. I did avoid the kitchen and dining room, and instead enticed him outside, to take a walk with me around the park.

"The castellan, Thomas Hurnard, still manages to keep it up, although he admitted to me that he did not have the strength any longer to tend to every minor detail. He has been here for awhile, and before that he worked as a steward on an estate in Hampshire in England for twenty years. That is where he is originally from, I believe," I said, pointing out a small cottage near the edge of a line of woods sitting on the water. "He says the previous owners used to raise sheep, and says he would enjoy it if we did that."

"Meat animals?" he asked suspiciously. "I don't think I could eat something I raised," he said, giving me a squeamish look.

"Wool then?" I said, laughing. "We have enough land, we could raise anything we liked. I have wanted a horse for a long time, but I am too lazy to feed one every day."

"I remember you riding from Persia. It was a difficult ride, was it not?"

I shuddered, "I never knew a place so hot during the day, could be so cold at night. Promise you will not laugh?"

He inclined his head slightly, but I could see he was going to have difficulty from it.

"I made Oman sleep beside me so I would not freeze to death."

His eyebrows shot up, "Oman? I bet he enjoyed that," he snorted. "I can't imagine anything worse than having had that particular _procedure_ done, and lying next to a beautiful girl, unable to do anything about it. The khanum offered me once," he said dryly. "I am glad she did not make good on it."

"I think," I said slowly, "I am rather glad that she did not as well."

He smiled a little, "Does...everyone know about the baby?" he asked quietly.

"Yes."

"Even Nicolas?" he continued. "He knows?"

"Nicolas was the first to know," I scowled. "He is very perceptive, that boy. I wanted to keep it a secret for awhile longer, but he told my parents...and I am very surprised he did not tell you."

He stopped walking, "You weren't going to tell me?"

I hesitated, wondering if it would make him angry that I had been selfish. "I wanted you here because you wanted to be here. I didn't want to tell you...because I knew you would immediately have come. But I wanted it to be because of me, and for no other reason."

His eyes flickered away from mine for a moment, and he reached out and took my hand.

"I am sorry I pushed you away. I can't promise I'm going to be easy to live with, but I do love you, and I will honestly try not to hurt you again...," he swallowed, his eyes filling with pain, "...your father said some things to me..."

"Erik-"

He shook his head, "Vincent said some things to me, about what I am...the kind of man I am. I'm sorry I can't be the things he wants for you. I really am."

I felt anger shoot through me sharply, as I considered all the possible things my father could have said to him.

"What did he say?" I demanded, "Tell me."

"No," he said stubbornly.

"Erik, tell me."

His jaw squared out, his chin jutted angrily, and he glared at me defiantly.

"No."

"If I ask him, he will tell me," I threatened.

He narrowed his eyes at me, his nostril flaring, his mouth tightening.

"_Please_. I can't defend you, if I do not know what he said."

"Defend me?" he asked, his eyes widening. "Against who?"

"He has undoubtedly said some awful things to you, to provoke you. I want to know. I can tell you what nonsense they are, and appease your mind. Because I know exactly how my father works. He digs in those barbs in all the right spaces, merely to rile you, and make you give the appropriate response," I huffed. "He does it to me, all the time. So, out with it!"

"I do not have warmth, feeling, or a sense of humor," he said quietly, looking out over the lake. "I am not a good role model, and am not a suitable friend and companion to you. I am..._ice_...to the very core."

I considered his words, seeing how my father could think that about him, because he didn't know him. My mother thought he was cold too. But she had never gotten in bed with him.

"Do you believe those things?" I asked softly.

"I never reflected on those aspects of my personality," he said stiffly. "I never knew those traits were important."

I reached out and touched his cheek, which suddenly felt freezing even though the day was promising to be decently warm. His eyes closed as I caressed his unshaven cheek, which I thought made him look incredibly handsome and slightly unkempt, but in a good way.

I had never seen him as anything other than perfection, and it was a refreshing image.

"Sometimes," I said slowly, "I can see the hint of a smile on your lips, though you do not give in to it. Your eyes, however, laugh, even when you do not. I can honestly say I have not heard you laugh but a few times since I have known you, and it is a rare and beautiful sound when you do."

He gave me a startled look, and he stepped closer, his mouth parting as he waited for more praise...more compliments.

"Your sense of humor is elusive...not everyone understands it...but I do, and I think you are a very charming man. I think you _are _warm, and kind, and I _know_ you are not ice to the very core. Far from it. Your feelings are always there...beneath a surface that is hard to penetrate, and sometimes difficult to understand, but I feel like I know enough about you to say that you do possess all the traits I want in a man."

"All the traits?" he whispered, his eyes filled with hope.

"Every one," I said gently. "You are an excellent role model, in that you are intelligent, and I know your business will be a success, once it is started. I have not considered you my friend, but I would like very much for that to become true. A friend...and a _lover,_" I smiled a bit wickedly, "we can be friends and _companions_ when we are old and gray."

His slow smile was rewarding, and he bent his head to kiss me, sweet and tender. His eyes closed, and I wrapped my arms around his neck and inhaled the warm smell of him, of the earth and air.

"I love you," I murmured against his mouth. "My father is a trickster. You are going to have to think ahead of him, and be prepared if he does try to keep you in line with that tongue of his. It is a fierce weapon, and he knows exactly how to use it."

"A trickster, you say?" he said casually. "But, madame, I am the master. Surely I will be able to recognize his deceit. I _do_ know that he was angry with me. And I do not blame him for it. I think I will let him pass on this one. In this instance, he was right."

I rolled my eyes, "He always thinks he is right. Don't encourage him."

"Ah, but we both got what we wanted, didn't we? We are together...and the majority of it has been at his hand. I think he deserves a little credit, don't you?"

"Well, I like to think that I did a little of the work as well," I said easily. "After all, I did ask you to kiss me, and you most certainly enjoyed it."

"Did I?" his eyes glinted in the shadows of the forest. They lowered to my mouth, then back up to my eyes. "I can't quite recall..."

"See," I chuckled, "you do have a sense of humor, although I think you might want to reconsider your subject. Women do not like to be teased about what they consider the most romantic moment of their life."

"Romantic?" he asked swiftly. "I have never considered myself a romantic man."

"Do you think every man steals orchids for their ladies and leaves them on their night tables while they sleep? Or promises to play them a song that will make their heart weep on their wedding day? How about pulling me into the shadows of my house," my voice dropped into a low and husky whisper, "and kissing me with such urgency and passion that I thought I might not survive the rest of the night without your body next to mine? Is that not romantic?"

His eyes darkened as he too remembered that night when Nadir had interrupted us.

"You are too much," he said with a sigh. "I am going to lose myself in you."

"Good," I said primly. "We can work on that later tonight. For now," I smiled, "_we_ must find breakfast."

"I'm not hungry," he grumbled.

"Did I say anything about you?"


	22. A Naughty Stallion

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

When we arrived back at the main house, Nicolas was outside in a tugging match with the puppy, attempting to wrestle a rope from his mouth and teach him to fetch.

"No!" he scolded gently. "You're supposed to let it go!"

We both stopped in amusement to watch him, as he finally managed to wrest the rope from his mouth and toss it our direction, and the puppy's head turned to look as he scrambled after it. Unfortunately he was not interested in the rope, and ran directly for me and began tugging on my pants again. I scooped him up and received a sharp nip on the hand for my trouble.

He appeared content though, when I turned him over to scratch his stomach, his legs kicking in joyful abandon.

"And you're supposed to bring it back!" Nicolas lamented, but he laughed. "I don't think he has much of an attention span."

"It takes a lot of time to train a dog," I commented.

"Have you ever had one before?" Nicolas asked, trying to get the puppy to wiggle free from my arms and come to him.

"A long time ago," I said. "When I was very young."

I could see Laure was surprised, and Nicolas as well, considering what they knew of my childhood. I didn't elaborate on Sasha, but set the pup free to wander back to Nicolas, though it took awhile.

I glanced up when I saw Clare emerge from the back entrance of the house and look around for us.

"Laure? Erik?"

I felt startled hearing her call my name in that manner, and followed Laure as she went to her mother's side.

"What is it?"

"Your father," she said, exasperated. "He's apparently decided to fill this place with all sorts of creatures. You'd better go out front."

I followed them inside, but Laure veered off towards the dining room.

"Aren't you coming?" I asked quickly.

"You deal with it," she waved at me dismissively. "I am going to eat."

I stared at her a moment, and Nicolas grinned at me.

"She's rather mercurial," he said. "She wants to eat, but I must warn you, do not place pork products anywhere near her. Especially sausage."

He strode ahead of me to the front door and opened it to reveal Vincent, wrestling ineffectively with two horses.

"See here, beast!" he muttered, trying to get them both to stand still. "I said, see here!"

His problem was attempting to hold their head very close to each other, instead of giving them a little room to move around.

"Whats this?" Nicolas asked, taking one leather rein and pulling a chestnut head against his arm.

"I believe they are called horses," Vincent puffed, and wearily offered me the other rein. "I did not even think to ask if you wanted them, Erik, but I've been out here for days with no transportation. Forgive me if I haven't chosen the best mounts, although Nadir did assist me."

"Never trust a Persian regarding horses," I said, taking the rein of a solid looking gray. "They will invariably give you something you cannot handle, if merely to watch you blunder your way through a ride."

He...I checked quickly...seemed sturdy enough, although there was another problem with his theory of holding them close together. He was lucky he had not been injured holding the gray stallion next to the chestnut gelding. Not a wise combination, although certainly easier to manage than a mare and a stallion. At least the chestnut gelding seemed gentle enough.

I would be willing to bet Nadir had recommended the gray for me, and the gelding for Nicolas or Laure.

I would also be willing to bet he expected me to get pitched.

"I spoke with Thomas Hurnard," he said, wiping at his clothing, "he says there was still enough bedding for the horses, and if you'll allow him to hitch one of these up, there is a cart somewhere around here and he'll get anything else you need."

"The chestnut," I said solemnly. "Nicolas, have you ever ridden before?"

He shook his head slowly, "I always wanted to."

I smiled inwardly. Finally, something I could teach him. I wondered how to instruct him to ride the chestnut until he had learned how to anticipate his mount's energy and disposition, without making him feel like a child. No doubt if I said the wrong words, he would ride the gray while I was not watching.

I couldn't bear the thought of him being injured.

I decided the best thing to do, for now, was see how well he could balance, and just not mention that I didn't want him to ride they gray. It would do no good. He was just like me, and would think it would be an interesting challenge.

I suppressed a sigh, thinking it might be a challenge anyway. For me. Was I really thirty five? I looked at the spirited horse, stamping his hooves, and began to feel every one of them.

--------------------

I found the stable well maintained. It had obviously once housed a nice fleet of horses, and whoever had owned the place had spent a lot of money on their facilities.

Laure came out while I was working the gray from the ground, letting him get used to me, and my body language. As well as see that I was not trying to control him, but become one with him.

She watched from the rail as I stood in the center, turning my body slightly and catching the horse directly in the eye and sending him the other direction. Within moments, his head lowered into submission, and I released him. I made my way towards Laure, and propped my boot on the fence beside her.

She leaned through the fence and pressed an awkward kiss to my mouth, "He's beautiful."

"And very young," I muttered. "And very _energetic_...and unfortunately...still intact."

"A stallion?" she looked over to him. "I don't want Nicolas on a stallion."

"I haven't said anything to him, I figured it would drive him to climb on while we weren't watching...but I agree. This horse needs work."

"I saw the other one, the gelding. He's very affectionate. I think he's an older horse," she said softly. "This is the first time I've been out here. Nicolas told me there are all sorts of buildings on this property. There is even a dower house."

"Really? I wonder why they sold this place."

"Debts," she sighed. "I think maybe, after looking at this stable, I know exactly what sort of gaming they were into."

"Horse races?" I said in disgust. "A rich man's sport, which causes pain and misery to the poor beasts who are maimed afterwards."

Laure's eyes widened a moment as she looked beyond my shoulder, "He's going to bite you," she said softly.

Instantly I heard his jaws open, and he lashed at me with his gaping mouth. Fortunately he did not bite as hard as I expected, although it would leave a bruise.

"Damnation!" I nearly shouted, and pushed him away from me. "I had nearly forgotten what I hated about stallions so much."

He began to bob his head, apparently feeling mock contriteness for injuring me, but I knew if given the chance he would do it again. His ears flipped back and forth, making him look comical, and we both laughed at his display, although my shoulder already felt sore.

"He didn't hurt you, did he?" she murmured, reaching through the fence to take my hand.

"No, but I think Nadir is going to have a better laugh out of it than we did," I scowled.

"I think you're going to have your hands full, with that one. Why don't you just take him back?"

"Oh, Laure, how little you understand me and Nadir. He did this on purpose. He wants me to get pitched, and he's going to have a laugh, at my expense. I only hope I can return the favor," I said tightly.

"I think you should invite him to live in the dower house," she blurted without taking a breath.

"_What?"_

"You've been to his apartment...that place is not what he is accustomed to. He was a police commissioner in Persia. For the _shah_. He had a _palace_. Certainly he was able to afford to pay me for spying on you. This place is large enough, and the dower house is empty, and would be perfect for him."

"Do you need your head examined?" I asked calmly.

"There is that sense of humor you claim not to have," she teased, but her eyes then turned somber. "I'm serious. Let him come stay here. We are all three very closely intertwined, are we not? We have been for years."

"I don't know if he will accept," I said with a sigh. "He is a proud man."

"Give him a job then. Make him...I don't know...tell him to keep a watch out for trespassers and thieves. Let him tend the horses..."

I had begun shaking my head.

"He isn't going to work for me. I will ask if he would like to live here, but I know he will not work for me."

"Tell him I want him here," she said softly. "He helped save my life, and I think of him as a dear friend. And I know despite the strange affection between you, so do you."

"I'll ask him," I promised, and leaned in to give her a kiss.

Before I could, she pulled away, her eyes widening again.

"Erik, he's going to bite you."


	23. Reflections and Plans

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

There were two large, and equally painful looking black bruises on his body. One on his shoulder, and one on his ribs. Erik hissed and groaned as I ran my hands over them lightly, and turned to glare at me over his shoulder.

"He didn't break the skin," I murmured, gingerly touching him again.

"How fortunate," he grunted, and stood up from the bench in our sitting room.

I held up his coat, looking at the large stain and a slight tear on the black fabric the stallion had left. He scowled when he saw it as well.

"That was my favorite coat," he sighed. "I have to go back to the theater and get the rest of my clothes."

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"I only trust the chestnut to go, unless I take the cart. Then I could get a few other things. Would you like to come?" he asked, his eyes flickering away from mine for a moment.

"I'll help in any way I can, as long as you're staying here," I smiled. "Is it safe to go now? Will anyone bother us?"

"No, I don't think so. I think people are avoiding the theater, especially after dark. Parisians are superstitious enough, they don't want to go near an abandoned building that was previously inhabited by a ghost."

"You want to go _tonight_?" I asked, "It's freezing outside."

He smirked, "I'll keep you warm. Besides, its a better idea to go at night. I really don't want to be sitting on a cart in the middle of the street, easy for anyone to observe. If you don't want to go, I can manage by myself."

"No," I said quickly. "Let me put on something warmer."

I changed, while he observed with a decidedly lazy gleam in his eyes, into a heavier gown, and pulled a dark cloak around me. Corsica had been warmer when we left, but even so, it had only been October. We were now getting on into November, and a few hundred miles north of the island. Paris was quite cold. I half expected it to begin snowing any day, and was really looking forward to it. I had only seen snow about three times in my life, and it had been in the higher regions of Corsica. Near the coast, weren't treated to snow often, and when we did, it was like a freezing rain that made everything slick, muddy, and absolutely dreadful to walk in.

I smiled, thinking about romping around in the snow with Erik, Nicolas, and our puppy, who had not yet been named.

"Laure?"

Then we could ride the horses near the lake, and look at the ice that covered it and made it beautiful and pristine. I wondered what fish did with themselves when it was cold.

"Laure? _Laure!"_

_  
_"Hmm?"

"Are you coming?" Erik snapped, and I looked to see him waiting impatiently in the doorway. When had he put his coat on? "I've been trying to get your attention for three minutes."

"Sorry," I sighed. "Do you think fish get cold in the winter?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing," I sighed again. "Weren't we going somewhere?"

"Yes, but I may drop you off at the asylum first," he grumbled. "The _theater_? Are you feeling ill?"

I mentally checked off several things that seemed normal, "No. Was I daydreaming? It seems to be another trick of pregnancy. I can't concentrate very well, and I've been very forgetful."

He stared at me for several moments. His eyes suddenly narrowing to slits.

"You should stay here. It isn't healthy for you to be out in the cold, and it would be faster if I went alone."

"I don't want you to go alone," I said quickly. "Come on, we'll be back in a few hours. I'll take a blanket with me."

"I'll take Nicolas. Even your father. But you should stay here."

He stalked towards me and removed my cloak and tossed it over a chair.

"But-"

"No. You are carrying our _child_. I'm not letting you go out and catch a chill, or fall and injure yourself."

He pushed me backwards into the bedroom and unbuttoned my gown, his hands hesitating a moment before he removed it and pushed me into the bed.

"Wait here for me. I'll be back," he promised, pulling the covers around me.

"I'm not sleepy," I protested. "Erik-"

"You'll be warm, and safe. And I'll be able to move much quicker knowing that," he said quietly. "Stay in bed, and I'll come wake you up in a few hours."

"If you put even one cold hand on me...," I warned, trying to snuggle deeper inside the blankets.

"There's an idea," he murmured, and pressed a kiss to my lips.

"What do you mean by that?" I yawned, then stopped, blushing when I saw his knowing smile.

"See? I would have to carry you up all those stairs, because you'd be too tired to walk them," he said mockingly. "Now rest."

He kissed me again and extinguished the lamps, leaving only the small fire blazing in the hearth in the adjoining room.

I lay awake for awhile, thinking what a pleasant day it had been, even though Erik had been bitten first by the puppy, then twice by the horse. Jules Bernard had come by, very embarrassed when Erik commended him on the house, but grateful for the praise. Jules, Erik, and Nicolas had shut themselves up in the workroom for half an hour, and Jules had given Erik a lead on a new library building that was to begin the planning phase sometime next month. Erik thought it could be a bold move to put his bid in, and submit his designs. If he was accepted, he would be well on his way to becoming an established architect. He decided that, for the first buildings he worked on, he would shy away from residences, and put in his bid for the public competition.

_"It's just like the when the theater was built,"_ he had said. _"If I had been a few months earlier...if I had known...I could have really designed it, and not Garnier. This is the chance I need."_

His eyes had been full of hope, full of desire, and he had ridden down to the site on the chestnut, then came back almost immediately, grumbling because he had not thought to take a sketch pad.

He'd reminded me a little of Nicolas then, frustrated when he couldn't put that model ship together in enough time suitable for his little hands.

But I knew Erik would be frustrated as well. It had been a very long time since he'd used his architecture skills, and it would probably take time for those things to come back to him. Or maybe not. If he looks at architecture and designing the way I do painting, it might be a flood of new ideas that hit him all at once that ultimately make him put something on paper that the people who decide who wins the bid will love. I hoped he won, for his sake. I didn't think it would do his self confidence any good to lose the first commission he tries to pursue. And to top that, he would be wanting to impress Nicolas, and his first hesitant steps back into building would be hard enough, without his son watching every move he made with eager eyes and a naïve heart.

I heard a knock on the door and called, "Come in," then realized Erik had tucked me in almost completely naked. I sat up and pulled the covers to my chin, grateful that it was only my mother, and not my father.

"I just saw Erik and Nicolas leaving with a cart. Is everything alright?" she asked, moving towards me in her soft blue nightgown, her graying hair down around her shoulders.

"They're going to get Erik's clothes, and I think his mother's furniture, although I'm not sure why," I said, beginning to scowl.

"His mother?" she asked, her brows lifting. "I didn't realize he knew his family...after what he said about the birthday..."

"He knew her," I said with quiet anger. "She was terrible to him. Very, _very_ terrible."

"She didn't...his face...she didn't do that to him...," she whispered, her eyes losing some of its light.

"I don't think so. He...he has...it isn't burns. But it isn't scars either. I think he was born that way," I said softly. "It does look terrible...I've told you before, from what I saw in Persia...but if he had been raised properly...raised with a loving mother, I think he would have turned out much differently."

"You haven't seen it since?" she asked, her brows lifting again.

"I have," I said, struggling to sit up straighter. "It doesn't matter to me. There's nothing wrong with him. He's just different, but I can't blame him for wearing a mask. Its all he's ever known, and really...it does make him look..."

"Dangerous?" she supplied, her eyes glowing.

"Yes," I said, "and I love it. But it also makes him look mysterious, and so very handsome. He's handsome without it...I overlook, or rather, I see past his face...but with it, and he has another one, in black...with it he is very handsome, is he not?"

"He is," she said with a smile. "You are happy then? You have reconciled?"

My answer was a growing blush, and a foolish grin.

"Your father never made me tea when I was pregnant," she mused, staring at the wall. "Or any other time, in fact."

"Will you and Papa come back when its time?" I whispered. "I hope you'll stay, even now."

"We have to go back for our things, and then if he wants to move to Cherbourg..."

"Convince him to stay," I murmured. "Cherbour will still be there after the baby has come, and then you might decide that you want to stay here anyway."

"But Nicolas-"

"Erik needs to work in Paris, or an otherwise populated area for awhile. When Nicolas leaves, we can all go to Cherbourg...or wherever we need to. I would like to keep this house. Maybe it can remain with us...and become a sort of family place."

"An ancestral home?" she sighed. "Lovely."

"Well...its only a few years old...so maybe to our children's children it will be an ancestral home," I chuckled.

"Stay," I pleaded softly. "Come back here once you've gotten your things from Corsica."

"Have you discussed this with Erik?" she said lightly. "His word is law in this house."

"_That_," I said, "remains to be decided."

"Laure-"

"I'll ask, but I know he'll give me whatever I want. I need you here, and this place is large enough for all of us."

"We shall see," she said noncommittally. "I'm going back to my room. Do you need anything?"

I shook my head and slunk back down into bed. She smoothed my hair back and kissed my cheek, then left. I turned on my side, feeling my eyes growing heavier...heavier...until I knew I was very, very close to falling asleep...


	24. The Unexpected Guest

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik

It _was_ freezing. I was glad I had commanded Laure to remain at home, in bed, where she belonged. I would have gone by myself, but Nicolas had caught me as I walked out the door, and wanted to come. Since I planned on taking more than just clothes, I let him come and hitched the cart up to the gelding, grateful Nadir had at least gotten one horse not possessed by the devil.

We huddled together on the seat, making steady progress to the theater at a brisk trot. No one was out this time of night, which I was grateful for. I wouldn't have to obscure my head so completely by a cloak, and we could move at a quicker pace without running anyone over. I felt my teeth chattering in as the wind whipped through me like an icy dagger, tearing at my cloak and infiltrating even my boots. Nicolas would have done better to have remained at home as well.

"Are you s-sure you need cl-clothes?" he bit out, his coat pulled up around his nose and mouth. "I d-don't mind if you wear a dr-dress. H-honestly."

"Do you e-expect me to actually r-respond to that?" I muttered.

I had even forgotten my damn gloves. They were lying somewhere inside the workroom. Thankfully I had more in the theater, but for now, my hands were like two icicles trying to steer the horse and cart down the narrow streets. I was never more glad to see the dark Opera Populaire looming ahead of us, the streets around it deserted completely. I hadn't even seen a prostitute in any of the doorways in the poorer slum district we had passed through. It wasn't too cold to ply their trade, but most men would be finding it in a tavern somewhere, instead of on the street.

I tethered the horse in the dark alley and we began our descent into the theater. It was colder inside, like a tomb, although the wind was not stabbing us with such great efficiency. I lit a torch and went the quickest route, to the lake. It would be easier taking things upstairs through the main stairway than through endless tunnels. I hadn't decided what, if any furniture I would bring. Probably none, as cold as it was. I no longer needed my mother's things anyway.

We crossed the lake and I proceeded to pile the boat with clothing of every sort, pulling on a pair of gloves and tossing Nicolas a pair as I did so. I took a few books and all my masks, as well as the cats collar I had stolen in Persia. Maybe I would put it in Nadir's pocket for him to find later.

Payback for buying me a stallion who liked to bite. Hard.

"What about this, Father?" Nicolas asked, his voice sounding unnaturally loud inside my room.

I looked up to see him holding the costume I had worn to the masquerade. I winced inwardly, "No. Not that one."

He shrugged and tossed it aside, pulling more clothing out of my bureau. I was glad then, that I had sunk the coffin. He had looked at the bare slab for a moment, but said nothing.

He took another load of things out, then stuck his head through the door of my room.

"I'm going to go unload what we have. I'll leave it in the cart."

I waved at him, distracted as I looked at musical scores, trying to decide if I wanted to keep anything. It was all so very dark, so depressing. I looked at it now, and wondered how I had not managed to drown myself after I had written it.

No. There was nothing I wanted to keep.

With regret, I knew I could not take the organ, but perhaps I could buy a new one. The one down here was constantly needing repaired because of the amount of water that could come dripping from the ceiling, and into the pipes. I took one last look around my room, and shut the door.

With determination I pushed open the door to the room that held my mother's things. I would not take them, but I could at least look one last time.

I lit a candle near the door, and stepped inside, my eyes adjusting to the light slowly, and making out a dark object on the bed. I stepped closer, trying to discern what it was, and felt my heart grow cold.

Christine.

What the hell was she doing here? She should have been in England by now. This was the last...absolutely the last damn thing I needed.

"Christine!" I said loudly, my patience gone for this woman...this girl.

She did not stir. I felt dread seep into me, and reached out and shook her.

"Christine! Wake up!" I demanded. "Wake up!"

I reached out and brushed her hair away from her neck, and felt her skin was very, very cold.

No. She could not be dead. Not here. Not in my...my house. Not in _here._

I touched a hesitant finger to her pulse, and it beat there, weakly. But she was so cold. I picked her up and carried her out to the hearth, where no fire sparked, but I was able to wrap her up in Laure's blanket and rub her arms and cheeks.

"Christine?" I tapped her face lightly, "Wake up."

"Father?" I looked up to see Nicolas gliding towards me in the boat, a look of confusion on his face as he looked at me and the girl in my arms.

"Nicolas...there's something wrong with her. Help me," I whispered, looking back down at her.

I wasn't sure what I felt, other than terror. I had seen my mother lying dead in that bed...and now her...why did she have to look like my mother? Why did I have to choose her, or choose to live here, for that matter?

"I think she's been in there awhile," I whispered. "She's very cold. Help me get her home."

"Our home?" he asked, bounding out of the boat.

"No. Her home. To the Vicomte."

I picked her up again and set her in the boat, letting Nicolas hold her as I rowed us back across the lake and I took her from him and carried her up the stairs. She weighed practically next to nothing, and her arms hung limply down towards the ground as I took her out into the bitter night and set her down inside the back of the cart, lying on my clothes and other things. I set the blanket on top of her.

"Ride back here with her. We'll take her to de Chagny," I said curtly.

I leapt up to the reins and turned back towards the sixteenth arrondissement. I wondered what I was going to say to him...surely he had suspected where she had gone. She must have been there all last night, and possibly all day today, for her to be as cold as she was.

The stupid girl hadn't even started a fire to keep warm, and instead gone on to sleep as if it weren't arctically cold inside my home. I urged the horse to go as fast as I dared, in a canter, and nearly a gallop, praying I wouldn't kill all three of us with a cart and a horse I wasn't yet used to.

"She's mumbling, Father," Nicolas called from the back. "Her eyes opened for a moment."

I tucked my head low and sped up, praying she wasn't in some sort of death rattle, and Nicolas would have to witness it.

When we arrived at the de Chagny's, I pulled my cloak about me and carried her up to the entrance, pounding on the door of their fine home.

The same stuffy butler opened it, glancing at my mask, then at the girl in my arms.

"Can I help you?" he sniffed at me.

"The Vicomtesse is ill. Go fetch her husband," I ordered, and attempted to step into the hall.

"Christine is no longer welcome here," he said stiffly. "The Countess has instructed me to turn her away if she should come here again."

Again? I stared at him in shock, "She's almost dead."

His eyes held a bit of humanity for a moment.

"I'm sorry, monsieur. She is not welcome here."

He tried to shut the door, but I stuck my boot out. "Where is the Vicomte?"

"He is no longer welcome here either," he said impassively. "I'm very sorry, monsieur. Good night."

I held my boot inside the door, and saw a movement behind the butler.

"Who is it, Sydney? Is it that wretched girl again? She is not allowed inside here. Get rid of her."

I stepped very directly into the path of the door again, and thrust it open with my boot. An unbearably ugly woman, with eyes as cold as the nearly dead girl in my arms sprang back in fright as I stepped into their home.

"You are refusing to care for your son's wife?" I snapped. "She isn't going to make it in this cold much longer."

"I do not have a son," she said haughtily. "And take that...creature with you...you...whatever you are."

"I beg your pardon, Madame de Chagny. I suppose once she is dead, you will be pleased, and will welcome Raoul back here with open arms. I also wonder," I paused, "if he will want to know how his wife died on the door of his estate, because his mother would not allow her inside."

I knelt and started to deposit her onto the floor, and stopped when I saw Christine's eyes open slowly, and flutter back closed.

"Father? Let's just take her and go," Nicolas whispered from behind me. "She needs to be warm."

He slid a furious glance at the Countess, and lifted her from my arms. He turned and carried her into the night without looking back.

I looked back at the Countess, and she was still standing there, her eyes filled with fury, her nostrils flaring.

"Get out of here at once!" she commanded without raising her voice.

"Where is the Vicomte?"

"Get out!" she actually shrieked this time. "At once!"

"Madame-"

"_Out!"_

I obeyed, fury filling me at her cruelty, and for forcing me to deal yet again with Christine. Where was de Chagny? For once I would have been glad to see the bastard. I went back to the cart, where Nicolas was bundled up with Christine across his lap, her head tucked against his neck as he tried to warm her by rubbing her arms.

"Hang on to her, Nicolas," I said angrily. "Just hang on to her."

The cart practically flew the rest of the way home.


	25. Uncaring Disposition

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I could have turned around and taken her to the Girys. I could have left her in the entryway at the de Chagny's, if I had known whether or not they would roll her outside and close the door on her unconscious body. I could, God forbid, have left her in the theater.

But I didn't.

I carried her through the door of my new home, the one I had only recently known I was welcome in, and laid her down in the parlor near the fire. Nicolas sank down next to me and touched her face.

"Is she dead?" he whispered, his eyes filled with horror.

I touched her neck for a moment, "No. But very weak. Nicolas...I don't want to wake your mother up...but could you get Vincent?"

He nodded and left, and I pulled the blanket back over Christine and moved the sofa closer to the fire. I was lifting her onto it when Vincent and Nicolas came back in.

He glanced down at her a moment, then back at me, his expression wary.

"_This_ is your soprano, Erik?" he asked slowly.

"She is not _my_ anything," I snapped. "What was I supposed to do with her?"

He stared at me while I rubbed her cheek and arms, and I felt scrutinized to the point of shame.

"You should put her in a bath full of hot water," he said suddenly. "Nicolas said she'd been sleeping in the cold."

"She didn't even build a fire," I said softly. "She doesn't know anything about how to survive. She is not a survivor."

"Well, she's certainly not going to if we don't warm her up quickly. Come on, bring her upstairs," he directed me.

I lifted her reluctantly again, not looking at her, trying not to think about her being there, only of my pregnant wife asleep. Vincent prepared a bath filled with very warm water, and we sat her inside it, clothes and all. He leaned in and splashed water around her legs, sinking her arms down into the water, and pushing her down to her neck. She mumbled and protested, and finally opened her eyes to look at him.

Her eyes widened as she took in the stranger, then filled with horror as she realized she was in water, and he was steadily pushing her down.

"Please," she whispered, and gripped his arm.

"Its okay, we're trying to warm you up," he said reassuringly, glancing at me across the rim of the tub. "Relax...Christine...correct? Just relax, and we'll have you in ship-shape in no time."

I moved out of her line of sight and allowed him to continue moving her arms in the water.

"How do you feel?" he asked gently. "Is that better?"

"Where is Raoul?" she groaned. "Raoul?"

"Your husband isn't here, Christine," he said, then glanced at me. "Erik is here. Would you like to see Erik?"

I shook my head mutely, glaring at him, but she turned her head and sat up, looking directly at me.

Her eyes filled with tears as they met mine, "You never came back," she whispered.

"Where did Raoul go?" I said, ignoring her plight and pitiful appearance.

"Raoul? He went to England," she said, her eyes wide and frightened. "Why am I in water?"

"You were very cold," Vincent said softly. "Are you warmer now?"

"Yes...," she sat up, holding her soaking arms out of the water. "Oh, no. My dress is ruined."

I stood up and moved toward the door. "We're going to give you some privacy, Vicomtesse," I said stiffly. "Remain here and I will retrieve a gown or something appropriate for you to change into."

Vincent followed me out of the room, and stopped me when I started for Laure's room.

"I'll get Clare. Let her sleep."

"I'll find her something to wear," I muttered, and turned back toward the room where my wife was sleeping.

Nicolas was pacing outside her door, and glanced up at me when I started for him.

"Is she still alive?" he whispered nervously.

"Yes. Did you wake your mother?"_ I_ whispered back, _nervously._

"No."

"She is not going to be pleased about this," I sighed. "I'm going to get Christine something to wear. Do _not_ make any noise. Why don't you go unload the cart and tend to the horse?"

"Its already done," he said quietly. "Your clothes are inside on the sofa."

I turned and opened the door, seeing the huge pile of clothing scattered across the sofa and bench. I opened Laure's bureau and pulled out a heavy gown much like the one I had removed earlier. I slipped out of the room and took it to Clare, who was standing in a dazed manner outside the bathroom door.

"Thank you, Clare," I said softly.

"She's really in there?" she said skeptically, looking from me to Nicolas. "What do I say to her?"

"It doesn't matter," I said gently. "She's probably not going to remember any of this. She's..."

"There is a screw loose in her head," Nicolas supplied.

"Nicolas!" Clare gasped, glancing at the closed door. "Go to bed, this instant!"

"I'm only repeating what I've heard," he muttered, but turned toward his room.

"I will wait here," I said firmly. "If you need my help," I grimaced, "don't hesitate to ask."

She drew in a breath and stepped inside. I saw the back of Christine's head, where she was still dutifully sitting in the tub.

"Christine?" Clare said with kindness, "I'm Madame Bourne. I have a dress for you."

She met my eyes for a moment as she shut the door, and I could hear her inside, the sound of water splashing as Christine struggled out of her dress.

I leaned against the opposite wall, my head against it, my eyes closed, and wondered how I had gotten myself into this. I could have gladly strangled de Chagny for not keeping a better hold on his wife.

Vincent appeared from somewhere, where he had apparently changed out of his soaked nightdress into regular clothing. "Is Clare in there now?" he asked, straightening his shirt.

"Yes."

"Why did you bring her here?" he muttered. "Laure is going to be furious."

"They wouldn't allow me inside with her," I said with swiftly returning anger. "I thought they might...roll her outside and let her freeze to death. Her husband was not there. I didn't know what else to do."

"There isn't anyone else who can take her in?"

"If she is feeling well, I can send her to the Giry's tomorrow. Or tonight even," I said, feeling a little better. "I hope she can go tonight."

"No. No. I'm not blaming you, Erik. You did the right thing...but my daughter...she is not going to be pleased."

"I can already feel the noose, Vincent. I can already feel it," I said quietly.

---------------------

Once Clare had her dressed, she ushered Christine downstairs and plied her with two or three cups of scalding tea. Laure's parents and I sat across from her at the dining table, all staring at her as if we had been invaded by some strange abomination we were unsure how to deal with.

Christine...said nothing.

She drank her tea, and gazed vacantly off into space.

"The Vicomte went to England...," I began hesitantly. "Did you not travel with him?"

Her dark eyes darted to mine, and she nodded slowly.

"I went...but I missed Paris. I wanted to go back to the theater to see you."

I cringed, especially when Laure's parents suddenly scooted their chairs back.

"Stay," I said sharply, surprising them both. I turned back to Christine, "You ran away _again_?"

Her eyes filled with tears, and she nodded again. "I only made it as far as Rouen. I caught another train while he was sleeping...I was frightened. I wanted to go back and find him, but I realized I only had enough money to make it to Paris...then his parents wouldn't let me inside. Madame Giry was from home, and I thought...I thought I could just find you, but you weren't there either."

"Let me get this straight," I said slowly. "You ran away from your _husband_, for the _second_ time, to see _me_. Then, you changed your mind, and wanted to find him again, but didn't have enough money. His parents wouldn't help you, so you came to me. Why?"

"I-I thought you could help me," she whispered. "I've...I've hurt him terribly, haven't I?"

"I would certainly say so," I said cruelly. "Do you realize how close you came to _dying_? He never would have found you in time, if I had not come back. In fact, I wouldn't blame him if he didn't come to find you at all."

"Erik...," she began, but I silenced her with a wave of my hand.

"You have behaved very much like a child, Christine. You are in fact, a _twenty year old woman_, with a husband who loves you enough to have chased you time and time again. Are you deliberately trying to destroy him?"

"No-"

"_We_ can no longer see each other. Do you understand? I set you free, and you were supposed to remain _free_, not constantly coming back into my life. I will never set foot inside the theater again. If you come here, you will be refused admittance to my home. Do you understand? You are not welcome here."

She started crying, and I stood abruptly, not wanting to see her tears. Not believing in them any longer. She was just like...just like Luciana.

_Just like Luciana._

Clare stood and moved towards her, patting her hand awkwardly, then finally pulling her into her arms as she began to sob in earnest.

"Erik, can I have a word with you?" Vincent said quietly.

He stepped out into the kitchen without waiting for a response.

With another grim look at Christine, I followed.

He was leaning against the sink, rubbing his face wearily. He sighed as I entered, giving me a look similar to the one he had given me in the cave.

"She is a fragile girl," he said, sounding older than he really was. "You shouldn't have spoken to her like that."

"Vincent, she is a _woman_. She has _deliberately_ avoided reality long enough. _I_ treated her like a child. Her _husband_ treats her like a child. It is time she grew up. I think she may have actually frightened herself enough to let go of her delusions, and embrace her husband. I can't help her. The only person who can make her see the truth, is herself," I said flatly.

"Erik, she is in a delicate state-"

"She is old enough to make her own decisions!" I snapped. "She has done all these things of her own free will. She disappeared with Nicolas when he arrived here. She has made her husband jealous with rage...he has given up his title and his family for her. Christine...," I paused for a moment. "I thought for a long time she was what I wanted, Vincent. And now I am thankful that I never won her hand."

I turned back into the dining room, and saw that Christine and Clare were both staring towards the kitchen with wide eyes. I knew she had heard everything, and I couldn't bring myself to feel sorry for her.

I was in a particularly vicious mood, and could only see Luciana, getting what she wanted, because it suited her. Doing as she pleased, because it made her happy, and not giving a damn about what it cost anyone else.

How had I not seen it before?

Christine looked like my mother...but _she_ was Luciana...the delicate and seemingly sweet girl, who was bound to a higher calling of malicious intent, who wanted to have the world serve her, and nothing less.

Christine wanted my music, and nothing else.

Luciana had been infatuated with the image of a boy who did not exist, and pretended that beneath the mask was some great treasure for her to discover.

Luciana had wanted my complete and utter devotion, and nothing else.

"I am going to bed," I said softly. "With my _wife_. Clare, I feel unmannerly asking this, but could you see that Christine is put somewhere comfortable until the morning? I will escort her to the Giry's tomorrow."

"Erik...," Christine began, but I cut her off.

"Goodnight, Vicomtesse...," I paused, and raised an eyebrow. "I do beg your pardon. You are no longer the Vicomtesse, are you? Goodnight, Madame de Chagny."

I turned and left the women staring after me, and I wondered just how much trouble I was going to be in come morning.


	26. A Reluctance to Talk

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

"Laure?"

Erik was sitting beside me on the bed when I opened my eyes, offering me a cup of that dreadful tea. I sat up and reached for it, thinking that if I didn't take it, I would probably be sick, and it was the last thing I wanted.

We stared at each other in the morning light, and I could see in his eyes that he was anxious. His hands were fumbling with the compass, and he was darting glances at me. He looked like Nicolas, when he had done something wrong.

_Guilty._

That was the look.

"Did everything go alright last night?" I asked softly, taking a sip.

He had sweetened it with something this time...I thought it was honey. It tasted far better than it had the first time. I drank more of it.

"I got my things," he said evasively.

"You went alone?" I murmured, setting the tea aside.

"Nicolas went with me," he said softly. He looked at me squarely then, and reached for my hand. "I love you, Laure."

"I love you," I replied slowly. "Is something wrong? Have you changed your mind?"

"No!" he said swiftly. _"No."_

"Something is wrong, Erik," I said dryly. "You look like you've been eating crow for breakfast."

"Christine is here," he said abruptly.

I sat up quickly, although it took considerable time for the words to actually sink in.

"Would you care to repeat that?" I said softly.

His eyes met mine again, and he stroked the back of my hand. "I went to the theater last night. Nicolas and I. After we had gotten everything...I went to look at my mother's furniture. She was asleep in the room. Nearly dead. It was...it was very cold inside there."

I removed my hand from his, feeling annoyance and anger flash through me. I should have gone last night! Instead, I had went to bed, and let him find his...his little singer in his home. Former home.

"I took her to the Chagny residence, and they would not permit me to leave her there."

I narrowed my eyes at him, "What?"

"The Countess has disowned her son, and turned Christine out into the street when she tried to return. They had left for England, and Christine ran away again," he said quietly. "I'm sorry, Laure. I would have rather taken her anywhere else but here, but her pulse was very weak, and Nicolas was upset. I didn't want her to die in his presence. I...I couldn't leave her there on the steps of the Chagny's."

He glanced down at his hands, and I saw them clenching in frustration. His mouth was tight, his eyes hot and full of anger.

"So what do we do with her?" I asked calmly.

I knew he expected the worst from me, and I was struggling very hard not to show it. I did not want her here. Not in our home. Especially not now. Not ever!

"I will take her to the Giry's once she wakes up. Your father and I tended her last night...until she regained consciousness. Your mother helped her after that," he sighed, giving me an uneasy glance. "I really am sorry, Laure. I am _sor-"_

"Shh." I placed my hand across his lips, and forced a smile. "I'm not going to kill you."

I could tell he was incredibly angry, but I knew it was not because of me. I had not asked him why he had gone to the Chagny's the first time...when he had gone to apologize. I hadn't asked, because the wound was raw, and I didn't think she deserved his apology. Raoul, yes. Christine? No.

"You have went from one end of the spectrum with her," I paused for a moment, "to the complete opposite. Why has she made you so furious, Erik? You tried to reconcile with her, did you not? Did it not bring you any peace to apologize?"

"None," he spat, scowling at me. "I should never have gone there. Ever!"

"Then why did you?"

"I did it for Nicolas," he said bitterly. "I thought I was doing it for myself...but I _know_ she understood everything I said, and she even understood what she was doing to her husband. But she didn't _care._ She's spoiled, selfish, immature."

"Ah," I said, "so you asked for her forgiveness...but decided that you could not forgive her?"

He gave me a sullen look, "She pretended she didn't understand what I was asking. I saw clarity in her eyes...and she shook it off. She doesn't want to understand anything. She wants to pretend...to remain in her own little dream world," he snorted. "Raoul de Chagny is going to have to chain her to his body if he wants her to not run away again. I don't even think almost dying will force her to face life."

I reached out and took his hand, seeing surprise flicker on his face as I kissed it, then leaned forward to kiss him.

"You don't have to be afraid of me, Erik. You don't have to be afraid to tell me something. I...I know I have a temper, but you looked like you were facing the gallows a moment ago," I said softly.

"I felt...," he cleared his throat and shot me a pained look, "...I felt like the trap door had already been released, and I was already swinging."

"Where is Christine now?"

"Asleep somewhere," he gestured vacantly towards the door. "Your mother took care of her last night. I was too angry."

"I never heard you come to bed last night."

He narrowed his eyes at me, "Dammit, I was here! With you!"

"I wasn't implying anything," I said patiently. "I was commenting on the fact that I never heard you come in."

"You were asleep," his voice softened slightly. "I didn't want to wake you."

Of course he hadn't. He would have felt obliged to tell me while I was half asleep, and then he really would have been in for a surprise. Or perhaps would have gotten the response he had been expecting.

I was..._just barely_...controlling my temper and annoyance.

I was also attempting to hide it, and thought I was doing a remarkable job. I had yet, of course, to see Christine.

"Will you accompany me to the Giry's?" he asked quietly. "I would like you to meet Madame Giry."

"Certainly. Allow me to dress, and I will be downstairs shortly."

He didn't comment, and left.

I sat on the bed and drank the rest of my tea, feeling out of sorts, and very uncharitable towards the Vicomtesse. I dressed and went downstairs, ignoring the mountain of clothing that had been deposited in the floor of our sitting room. No one was around but Erik and my mother. She was setting a plate of something in front of him, and he stared at it for several moments before picking up his fork.

He set it down when he saw me.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked, rising half out of his chair.

I moved behind him and set my hands on his shoulders, forcing him to sit back down. I peered over his shoulder, seeing a safe enough breakfast of eggs, with no sausage or bacon.

"I'll make myself something in a moment," I said softly.

"Oh, no you won't," my mother said quickly. "I'll bring you some toast."

She left the room, leaving me to blush, knowing very well she never would have let me set foot inside there. She had never forgiven me for burning an entire cake in her oven, causing her whole house to fill with smoke.

"She hasn't woken up yet?" I asked cautiously.

"No."

"Where is she?" I prodded.

"I have no idea," he muttered, staring down into his plate. "I...I want you to trust me, Laure. I don't want her here. I didn't bring here here for any other reason than she was about to die. She would have frozen to death. I'm not...," he swallowed hard, his eyes shutting forcefully, "...I'm not demented, Laure. I swear it."

"I didn't think you were," I whispered, my throat aching suddenly. "I know you are not. No one does."

He gave a shaky laugh, "Sure. Sure."

"Don't do this to yourself," I said quietly. "She isn't worth it."

He turned and looked at me, his eyes filled with some inner pain I couldn't quite identify. Why must this girl affect him so much? Why her?

"I realized something last night," he said slowly. "I realized why I was so desperate to prove to her that I wasn't a monster. Why I wanted to prove to her I could be more than...more than this...," he gestured towards his face. "She reminded me of Luciana, and I thought...I thought I could redeem myself in some way with her."

"Who is Luciana?"

We both looked up to see the Vicomtesse herself standing in the dining room, a look of remarkable calmness and clarity on her face.


	27. Tangled Memories and Blatant Truth

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

My energy seemed to drain completely when I looked up and met her eyes. I only met them for a moment, and felt compelled to move them back to my plate as she stepped farther into the room. I heard Laure draw in a sharp breath, and wondered if it was because Christine was wearing her dress, or if it was because she had been eavesdropping.

"Who is Luciana?" she repeated, and pulled a chair out directly across from me.

"None of your concern," I said, feeling rigidness enter my entire body.

"Erik...," she began, but stopped when she saw Laure's hand move to cover my own.

Her eyes remained on our hands, joined, mine with a wedding band, which I displayed quite openly.

"Monsieur Sagesse," she corrected herself, her voice becoming slightly more formal. "I would like to know."

My eyebrows raised. I had not told her my name was Erik Sagesse. She apparently knew more than she ever let on.

"Madame de Chagny," I said just as dourly, "my past acquaintances are none of your concern."

"You indicated that I reminded you of her. _Our_...past acquaintance must have had something to do with her. You said you wished to redeem yourself with me," she said carefully. "I do remember your anger, Monsieur Sagesse. I remember it quite distinctively, and sometimes I wondered if it was truly directed at me."

"How well you remember what you want," I said coldly. "It seems to be a remarkable trait for women like yourself."

She glanced apprehensively at Laure, then quickly back to me. Laure's hand tightened on my own, and I felt her strength...I felt her support, and it nearly caused me to smile. Nearly.

"I never thought you were a monster," she whispered suddenly, her voice low and almost indiscernible. "I never did...until...," she broke off, her chin quivering slightly. Her gaze slid down to her hands, and she began to take on that distant, vacant look again.

"Until I killed those men?" I asked quietly.

She nodded, not meeting my eyes.

All my anger at her vanished. All my ill intentions toward her gone once again. She had the ability...twice now...to take the wind right out of my sails, and grant me a serious set down.

"My husband is not a monster," Laure said softly. "Every man is entitled to mistakes...some very, very wrong. He was cornered...and he reacted thus. If you knew him at all, Vicomtesse, you would understand that he is not a man to cower in fear. He fights back, and he wins."

She looked over to Laure again, and offered a tentative smile, "He is a good man."

I stared, in shock, wondering how she could possibly think that about me. I couldn't even understand how Laure could think it about me, but Christine?

"Yes, he is," Laure said slowly. "But your time together is gone. You cannot seek him out anymore. I understand our son probably caused old feelings to resurface...and considerable confusion, but he belongs with his family now. He has one child...another on the way. He has a family."

And he doesn't need you.

The words were unspoken, but resounded inside the room.

"I still want to hear about Luciana," she finally said, looking back at me stubbornly.

"No."

"I think you should tell her," Laure said quietly. "I think it will help you, Erik."

Condescending words, I thought scornfully.

_It will help you._

It made me sound like an invalid. A cripple.

I didn't want to give her anything, but since Laure had asked...

"Luciana was a spoiled girl, who used her tantrums and fits to get her way. She ran away from responsibility and reality. She was very young, very juvenile, and decided she wanted me, for whatever reason. Mostly, I think, because she could not have me. I was her father's apprentice, and ignored her when I could, which wasn't often. She commanded me...," I broke off, and looked at Laure as I said it, rather than Christine, "she commanded me to remove the mask, and when I did she threw herself from the second story roof of her father's home, and landed below. Her skull was crushed. She died, instantly."

I had the satisfaction of seeing her face pale when I turned back to her. Distaste and revulsion was on her features, and I knew no one had ever spoken so bluntly with her about death. Likely, it was also veiled...although her father's had devastated her.

"I never asked...," Christine began, but Laure slapped the table abruptly.

"You just took it!" she said with an edge to her voice.

"I'm sorry," Christine whispered, staring at her hands. "I'm sorry."

"We both have much to be sorry for," I finally said, her words bringing a little calmness to me. A very little. "I think it would be best if I escort you to the Giry's, and we forget we ever knew each other. Sometimes the past should stay buried. I have no wish to resurrect the Angel, the Phantom, or the Opera Ghost. You are a recently _un_titled Vicomtesse, with a no doubt frantic husband searching for you. He gave up his title for you, Christine. Don't you think he deserves more from you? Don't you understand that he loves you? He came after you...what? Three times?"

"Closer to ten," she mumbled. "I was fine, until he started talking about leaving Paris."

"You should be happy with him, wherever he takes you," Laure said sharply. "You are lucky to have a man that dedicated to you...and if you want to keep him...you might want to try a little lucidity in your next encounter with him."

"Keep him?" she repeated.

"Oh yes," Laure smiled, that wicked smile she used on Nicolas to prove a point. "He may love you...but your behavior will not continually satisfy him. Right now, you are more a child to him than a woman. He may find it easier to employ a mistress for his needs, and a governess for yours."

Christine blanched, but said nothing, and continued to stare blankly at Laure, as if it never occurred to her that she had a duty not only as a Vicomtesse, but as a wife.

"He gave up his title," she mumbled, almost incoherently. "His parents have disowned him, and I have abandoned him."

She bowed her head to her chest and began to cry. Clare immediately came out of the kitchen and put her arms around her, giving us both a reproachful look. I wondered if Laure felt the niggle of guilt...for making her cry. I felt it...but only a little. She deserved whatever harsh words de Chagny had for her as well. Somehow I doubted he would have any...but he was young. Perhaps he would learn.

"Take me to the Giry's," she whispered. "Please. I have to find him."

I stood and pressed a kiss to Laure's cheek, "I'll get the cart ready. Its not going to be very comfortable, but we can all go that way," I said softly, then, "if you get some tablets and drawing tools, we could go down to the site afterwards. You're a much better artist than I am. Would you sketch it for me?"

"Of course," she smiled briefly. "I'll get them now."

She left one way, and I went the other, out to the stable and hitched the chestnut up to the cart. The gray protested in his stall, so I turned him out into the large paddock for some freedom while I was gone.

They were both standing on the front steps when I brought the cart around, unsmiling and not speaking, while Nicolas stood off to the side, looking at me with a hopeful expression.

"Nicolas, would you like to go?" I asked, helping Laure into the front of the cart. "You can ride in the back with Madame de Chagny, and make sure she doesn't bounce out."

Christine giggled suddenly, then covered her mouth immediately, as if realizing that she was supposed to try and be mature. I suppressed a sigh and ignored her, leaving Nicolas to hoist her up into the cart. Laure sat close to me on the bench, her eyes wide and fearful as we rolled through the streets. I had my cloak pulled over my head, as did most people who were trying to keep warm, including herself and Nicolas. We pulled up the the Giry's and walked up to the door together, Nicolas and Christine whispering to each other, Laure and I silent.

Meg answered. Again.

Her brown eyes widened as she looked at all of us, mostly me and Christine, then she stepped back wordlessly to admit us. As soon as the door closed, she reached over and tugged Christine to her side, "You really shouldn't have run away Chrissie. He's very angry this time."


	28. Returning What is No Longer Needed

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

The petite blond girl, who I assumed was Madame Giry's daughter, Meg, was clutching Christine to her tightly, and darting ominous glances at Erik and Nicolas.

"Where is he, Meg?" Christine whispered nervously, peering into the dim parlor, then behind her down the hall.

"He isn't here. He went back to the theater...he," she paused, glancing down towards the floor, "he said if you hadn't come back by the time he returned here...he's going to the gendarmes."

I tightened my arm around Erik, feeling anger return swift and hot...along with fear and terror.

"Why?" I whispered.

Meg finally looked at me, as, and down at my clutch on Erik. "He thinks they have run away together. The...the cellar...was empty. He arrived this morning, very upset."

"I was sick, Meg," Christine said softly. "Erik saved my life. This...," she gestured to me, "this is Erik's wife, Laure, and his son Nicolas."

Christine offered me a tentative smile, but my insides felt frozen, my heart filled with terror. Erik couldn't be...no...he was going to be a father again. He had a house, and a family...and he was my love. I couldn't lose him...not again.

"Nicolas," Erik said stiffly, "would you remain here and see that the _Vicomtesse _does not..._wander_ off? Your mother and I will try to find her husband."

"Yes, Father," he said quietly.

"Is Madame Giry here?" Erik asked Meg.

"Of course," she said softly, then turned and shouted up the stairs, "Mother!"

"Meg, stop shouting in this house," a cranky sounding woman said from upstairs.

"Christine is here," she shouted again.

Immediately we heard shuffling above us, and a tap, tap, tap, resounding carefully overhead. Madame Giry appeared at the top of the stairs, a black clad figure with a severe hairstyle and a rigid bearing, which was supported by a thick black cane.

"Erik," she greeted him with surprising warmness...a contrast to her appearance. "You have brought Christine here. Very good. Very good."

She gave Christine a sharp look, and the girl lowered her eyes to the floor immediately, "Madame Giry," she whispered.

"Madame...I am going to attempt to find de Chagny. Will you be so kind and watch Christine and make sure she does _not_ leave, and see that my son...this is _Nicolas_ by the way...see that my son is safe? I'll take my wife, Laure, and return to the theater to find him. If he is not there, I will leave a note. If he hasn't returned here by the time we get back, I'm taking my family and leaving. Gendarmes are not necessary...you understand? I did not take Christine, and I attempted to return her to _his_ family. They refused to admit her," Erik spoke quietly, and only looked at Madame Giry. "I do apologize Madame, for involving you in this. If you like...I can pay-"

"No!" Meg said sharply. "We do not need anything else from you, monsieur."

I turned to look at Meg in disbelief, seeing her face flushed with anger. What had Erik done to her, besides provide comfort for her and her mother?

Erik glanced at her, but inclined his head.

"Very well, Mademoiselle Giry. I will not offer again. Forgive me," he said with a soft and contrite tone I had never heard him use before. "Excuse us then, we will return, hopefully with the Vicomte."

He turned and escorted me out the door, not taking the cart, but tugging me along some side streets towards the theater. His stride was long, and I practically had to run to catch up with him.

"Erik," I said in exasperation, "slow down. Not everyone has long legs such as yours."

"I never harmed her," he muttered. "Not once. I frightened her enough, but I never harmed her."

"I assume you are talking about Mademoiselle Giry?"

"Of course," he snapped. "I've taken care of her and Madame Giry all these years, I helped her advance to leader of the row. Commanded it actually...to make her mother proud. I bought her slippers and leggings, made sure even her practice clothes were not tattered. Did I ever do anything right? Or was even those things inappropriate?"

"Erik, she's very young," I offered lamely. "Perhaps she misunderstood your intentions."

He stopped and fixed me with a cold stare, "And what intentions were those?"

"It _isn't_ proper for a man to buy a young girl clothing. You did it out of kindness, yes? But the world does not always see kindness and propriety on even terms. Perhaps she thought you were trying to buy...buy something else. Her affections, maybe? Or Christine's?"

Teeth bared, and eyes narrowed to slits, he spun around and resumed his half walk, half run to the theater. When we finally reached the door, he turned around on me again, "That is not what I was doing!"

"I didn't say it was," I said mildly. "I said, perhaps that is how she perceived it."

He made a snarling noise in his throat, and wrested the door open, "I'll do her a favor then, and won't offer her another blooming ha'penny!"

I could have burst into laughter, if we had not been about to go back inside the theater. He was indignant, still scowling, and still furious by the time we made it to his former home. One look around the place...I wasn't sure who destroyed it, whether it had been Nicolas and Erik last night during their bungled attempt to return with Erik's belongings, or if Raoul had done so.

Judging by the look on Erik's face...one of shock, as he stared at the remains of the organ, torn from the walls, music strewn everywhere, including the water, and everything else imaginable that Erik had ever used during the course of his life here was broken.

Glasses, plates, even candles ripped and smashed into pieces.

"Did you do this?" I whispered.

"No," he said shortly.

He started for the bedroom where he had found Christine, and I winced when I saw the destruction over his shoulder. The bed had been smashed with something...possibly the sledgehammer that Erik had destroyed the mirror with. The bureau and armoire as well, its doors broken and hanging limply, the contents strung across the floor. Erik knelt and picked up a yellowed linen, the one bearing the _M_ insignia in the corner.

"Erik," I whispered, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

His head lowered to his chest, and I sank down beside him. His eyes were closed, his mouth tight, and suddenly his shoulders trembled.

"I have nothing left of her," he said quietly. "I never thought I needed anything...I was even going to leave this here...her furniture, her things. It was pointless to take it with me, too much trouble to carry it in the cold. But now I have no choice. Its gone."

"I'm sorry," I said softly, and placed my arms around his neck. "I'm terribly sorry."

He drew in a shuddering breath and embraced me, his lips finding my cheek, then my mouth. "It shouldn't matter, should it? After everything...I shouldn't want these things. I should have left them in Boscherville, along with the house. Left them to Marie. She was the only one with her when she died...in the end."

My mind spun from the knowledge that he had known where he grew up...he had known quite a bit about his childhood apparently. For some reason I had always imagined that he spent it alone, barely knowing his mother, or that he had been abandoned. But he had known where she lived, apparently known to go there after she died, to retrieve these things. Why didn't he know his last name? Or birth date? Perhaps he didn't want to know. Maybe it was easier, when you were trying to disassociate yourself from mankind, to not know those things.

"Is Marie still alive?" I whispered.

"I don't know."

"How long has it been since she died?"

He thought for a moment, "I think close to ten years. One loses track of time down here, but I would say ten or more."

She was still alive when he was in Persia. Still living when I had Nicolas.

"Do you have any other family? Her parents...your father's family?" I asked softly.

"I have no idea. My mother's parents are dead. That's all I know of them. I...I was an only child, just like she was. My father...I have no idea," he said wearily.

"Boscherville," I said softly. "I've never heard of Boscherville. Where is it?"

"Southwest of Rouen," he said quietly, but speared me with a cold look. "I'm not going back there."

"I didn't say anything," I said defensively.

"You didn't have to."

He stood up, assisting me, and led me from the room. He shut the door firmly behind him, his mouth tightening as he did so, then stepped through the door to his room. The coffin was gone, and there hadn't been much else in here for Raoul to destroy. He hadn't touched Erik's bureau, I saw quickly.

Erik grabbed some sheet music paper from a small desk and took it out to the table. He was looking for a pen when we heard the trap door spring open above us, and de Chagny dropped through it. He saw me first, and blinked for a moment.

"Madame Sagesse. Are you looking for Erik?" he said quietly.

"I'm over here, dear Vicomte," Erik said dryly. "I was about to compose you a letter, begging you to reconsider bringing the gendarmes down upon me once again. It didn't turn out so well last time, did it?"

* * *

I meant to include a note last time...since I made Erik considerably younger...so he wouldn't sound like an old pervert...I also made Christine older...so he still wouldn't sound like an old pervert. Sorry for the confusion. 


	29. Return to Sender

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I turned away from de Chagny, the urge to wrap my hands around his miserable throat very, very urgent indeed. I had taken great care not to damage her things all these years...once they had come into my possession, I had fretted over their transport here, and painstakingly kept them well tended. As a child I was not permitted in my mother's room, but sometimes...sometimes I would creep into her room while she was gone, and touch the wood and linen reverently. Sometimes I did it while she slept, and would listen for hours to her even breathing in the darkness.

I had even touched her hand once...but only once.

Mother would have been furious if she had known.

But now...it no longer mattered. Her things had been destroyed, by a jealous husband, and for once I had been innocent of the crime. But Mother's things...they were gone forever.

"Where is Christine?" Raoul asked, anger and frustration evident in his tone.

I turned my head and studied him for a moment, his hair hanging limply, unshaven, unkempt all over. Without the services of a valet, no doubt, he had no idea how to tend to his own dressing. He was gaunt, pale, and his eyes were flat, very much like those of his mother, the Countess. He was going to become an embittered man if he wasn't careful.

"I tried to return her to you at your residence last night, only to be informed you had relinquished your title," I said slowly. "I took her to the Giry's this morning. She was half dead when I found her last night."

"What happened to her?" he fairly growled at me. "What did you do to her?"

I gave him a surprised look, "I have never hurt her. She did it to herself, coming in here and going to sleep without the benefit of a fire...warmth. I no longer live here, you may have noticed by the lack of clothing that was here this morning. However...I would think you would have at least been courteous enough not to destroy a man's home."

"You didn't take her?" he said doubtfully.

"Christine gave me the impression," I said softly, "that she left you in Rouen, and you were sleeping when she ran away. I, on the other hand, have been with my own family. I only returned to take what I needed, and found something quite _unpleasant_...your wife."

He flushed, and darted a glance at Laure. "I couldn't find her anywhere. I didn't think she would actually come back _here_."

"Well, next time, you know where to look," I said icily. "If she ever goes to my present home, I will not permit her to enter my residence. Keep her away from me."

"I was considerably upset when I came here," he said, looking around the room nervously. "I'm very sorry for destroying your things."

"They weren't mine," I said snidely, "they were the last thing I had of my mother's."

"I do beg your pardon, Erik," he whispered, his eyes lowering to the floor. "I am very sorry."

I felt sorry for him, then, because of all that she had done to him...and even after all he had done for her. He was going to no doubt devote the rest of his life to a girl who may or may not ever grow up.

"For what its worth," I said gruffly, "she changed her mind, but couldn't afford to return to Rouen. That was why she came here, I suppose. I would have gladly sent her back, if I had been here. And she didn't come here first. She went to your parents, then to the Giry's, but they weren't home."

He breathed deeply, what I supposed was a sigh of relief, but it appeared his eyes remained cold and distant.

"She knew I was here that night, in the torture chamber," he said with a desolate tone. "She gave herself away...apologized for it, and I knew then...I knew what I was going to live with all my life. In your shadow, Erik. I'll always be in your shadow, because I can never give her whatever it was that she got from you."

I glanced at Laure, and her eyes were already on me, a guarded expression on her face.

"I offered her comfort, I suppose, when her father passed on. She was lonely. Other than the voice lessons...there was never anything else. Surely you knew that?"

Surely there had been evidence on the wedding night that nothing..._nothing_ had ever transpired between us. I wasn't even sure if that was what he referred to.

"I know about that...," he sighed, "...I don't connect with her on the emotional level she needs. She's very delicate."

"She is not a child," I said curtly. "Don't treat her like one, or she will remain one for the rest of her life. I was...careful with her...I did treat her better than I did other people at least...but I never coddled her like you do. Stop paying homage to the girl you remember, and praise the woman she should become."

"Well said," Laure murmured. "Now, if you don't mind...I'm ready to return to Madame Giry's and retrieve Nicolas. And find some bakery that will take pity on me and give me something to eat."

"You haven't eaten?" I said sharply. "You know that isn't healthy for the baby."

"Erik-"

I stood abruptly and took her arm, leading her towards the mirrored exit. "If you're coming," I called over my shoulder, "then come."

He followed us out of the labyrinth, and into the late Parisian morning. I swept Laure along sidewalks, de Chagny trailing along diligently behind us, then up the stairs to Madame Giry's.

Madame answered this time, "Good, you found him. Come in," she said briskly.

Christine was hovering in the parlor, wringing her hands together tightly with an expression of great unease on her face. She met Raoul's eyes, and immediately burst into tears. Holding her hands out in front of her, she went towards him, but he remained at my side, stiff faced and unyielding.

"The last time, Christine," he said quietly. "This is the very last time."

"I'm sorry," she choked out, and moved towards him again.

"I cannot take anymore," he whispered tightly. "I cannot deal with you any longer."

"No, Raoul," she pleaded, "don't send me away. Don't take me away from here. Please."

"We cannot stay in Paris," he said firmly. "My family has disowned me."

"Is it not big enough for all of you?" I asked slowly.

"They have blacklisted me," he said, looking at Christine. "That is why we're leaving. Did you know that they have disowned me, and I cannot get a line of credit in this town any longer? I am not permitted inside the home I grew up in, and cannot even use my name to get what I need and want. I have given it all up for your happiness, Christine. So that you may live in peace and not deal with my mother. Would you," he paused, "have done the same for me? If it had been your father?"

"I'm sorry," she merely repeated, and sank into a chair beside his standing and unapproachable form.

I felt Laure tug my sleeve, and turned to find her giving me a look...and a slight gesture with her chin.

"My apologies, Madame Giry. I would like for you to meet my wife...perhaps some other time? I really must be getting my family and leaving. We have plans for today."

With a slight nod to the tense and still angry de Chagny, and a bow to the Giry women, we gathered Nicolas and left. I had never witnessed a creature as conflicted as Christine...and never realized how troublesome she really was. I could only hope I never had to deal with her and her problems again.

"Do you think he'll stick with her?" Laure asked.

"Yes, I think so," I sighed. "He may have been my enemy...but he was a gentleman."

"Men are strange," she muttered. "If he had been my enemy...gentleman or not...he would have been sporting a black eye for what he did to my things."

"It is a good thing I did not get started on him," I leaned in close and whispered in her ear, "because if I had, black eyes would have been the least of his problems."

I stopped by a bakery and sent Nicolas inside for some bread, then I took them down to the site, which was easier taken by going past the de Chagny residence, then back down into the fifteenth arrondissement.

It would be situated on a hill, overlooking the Montparnasse district. In my opinion, it was a poor area for a new library, although the intention was to draw in a more eclectic and diverse artistic crowd, and thereby increasing the rent in this particular district. And it was not, thankfully, a government contract. A group of well meaning business men wanted to drive the price of housing up in this area, and similar construction projects were ongoing as well.

I parked the rig and tied the horse up, although he protested his innocence and begged me to allow him to roam freely. Laure scrambled into the back of the cart and retrieved her sketchpad, sitting cross legged in the cart and immediately began to sketch, taking alternate bites of bread as she did so.

Nicolas wandered off towards the hill, and eventually came to stand on the center, waving down at us with exuberance. His mother waved back in exaggeration, then smiled at me.

"We used to do that all the time," she explained. "It was our way of greeting one another...to wave madly, a way of telling each other we loved one another, without having to say it all the time. Nicolas has become embarrassed lately, when I say it to him."

I climbed up beside her and looked down at her paper as she sketched. She darted a glance at me then shoved me another tablet.

"Here. I know your hands do not have to be idle," she muttered, then hugged the sketch she was working on possessively. "You will see it when I am finished."

Wordlessly I began to sketch, taking into consideration the present landscape, and the height of the hill. It would be a large building, not as large as the theater, but I could already imagine what needed to be done here. Jules had informed me once I accepted the idea of entering, that he was not going to bother submitting his plans.

The very idea...he had been doing this while I had been living a useless life as a ghost, and he was giving up because I might submit plans as well? It made me incredibly nervous to have that sort of unspoken praise. I was going to be stressed enough figuring out what I wanted to do, as well as teaching Nicolas everything I had learned.

I did three short sketches, and waited while Laure completed the one she was still working on. I watched her face as she drew, the frown that would appear at her mouth and between her brows, then she would bite her lip and scowl at the page and her pencil would move furiously to change something. It was fascinating, really, to watch her so absorbed in her work. I realized I still had not played her a song yet...I considered playing the violin, or perhaps purchasing an organ first.

I hadn't yet made it around to visiting the music room, although I knew there was one somewhere. I had not, in fact, been into hardly any of the other rooms of the estate. I would have to remedy that soon. It was a beautiful home...and somewhere there was a nursery...I realized suddenly. I had brought Nicolas's cradle from Corsica, and it was somewhere in that house, possibly ready for the infant to sleep in. Possibly complete, and waiting for that day when it would be used again.

Nicolas came back from the hill and leaned against the cart, watching Laure draw as well. She appeared to take no notice of us, then suddenly she said, "I am almost finished. Just give me a moment."

"Did I say a word?" I asked, chuckling.

"I wasn't speaking to you. I was talking to my stomach."

She sighed and dropped the pad, leaning against the front wall of the cart.

"Ready now?"

"Please. I need real sustenance."

I offered to assist her into the front, but she waved me away, "Let Nicolas ride with you. I'm tired. Let me stay here."

"Are you feeling okay?" I asked in concern.

"Fine," she sighed again. "Just take me home, Erik."

With a shrug to Nicolas, I climbed into the cart and turned us towards home.


	30. The Promise of an Embrace

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

I may have been able to pass off my exhaustion if I hadn't fallen asleep on the way home. When I opened my eyes, Erik was looking at me grimly, and I realized he was carrying me inside.

"This is the second time I've carried an unconscious woman through these doors," he murmured with a mocking look in his eyes. "I hope this is not going to become a habit."

"I'm perfectly capable of walking," I mumbled, but turned my head into his neck.

I half expected him to carry me upstairs and deposit me in bed, but he turned into the dining room and continued towards the kitchen. He sat me down at the small table, and turned towards the stove with determination.

"What would you like?" he asked softly. "A sandwich? Perhaps a frittata? I can even manage to make a crepe if you want."

My stomach revolted at the idea. "No crepes," I whispered, remembering the incident on the ship.

Then I realized how absurd it was, that he was preparing me something, and I began to fuss.

"Look, I can manage," I said, starting to rise, but he pushed me firmly back into the chair.

"I have it on good authority that you are not capable of boiling water. I will make you something. Besides," he snorted, "you have tired yourself. And," he gave me a hard look, "once you are finished eating, I'm putting you in bed."

"But-"

He pointed a long finger at me, "No, Laure. You have to take better care of yourself than this."

Meekly I sat and watched him prepare a frittata for me, and then I sat and ate the entire thing.

"That was good," I said, surprised beyond belief that he could cook.

"I hope that was a compliment, and not supreme shock speaking," he said dryly. "Would you like another?"

I stared at him with what was possibly the most pitiful expression in the world. "Another?"

He laughed, then turned around and obediently began preparing another.

My mother came in as I was polishing the second one off, staring at me first, then at Erik who was now washing his cookware.

"He can cook!" I said excitedly. "Oh, and he cleans too!"

"I think I may be having a vision," she whispered in exaggerated shock. "It is not possible."

"I assure you," Erik said, with what I perceived as embarrassment, "I have learned to make myself something other than the occasional bread and cheese meal. A man cannot sustain himself on it indefinitely, or he will lose all his appetite."

"If it were left up to most men," I said with a smile, "then they would indeed eat bread and cheese."

"Oh, Laure," my mother laughed, "unless they had a maid, who would buy it for them? Your father would undoubtedly starve if something ever happened to me."

I sighed and handed Erik my plate, watching in fascination as he washed it as well, then dried it and put it away. My mother was helplessly drawn in, watching him move around the kitchen with apparent ease. He turned to face us, his expression wary as he looked at the two women staring at him with undisguised delight.

"You should be going to bed," he muttered at me. "Do I need to carry you upstairs?"

"I think I can manage," I said with good humor. "But you can tuck me in."

"I...," he gave my mother an apologetic look, "...I have to tend to the horses."

With a hasty kiss to my cheek he stalked out of the room. I nearly broke into a fit of laughter, and judging by the expression on my mother's face, she did as well.

"You are tormenting him," she said with a scolding look, "but I can see how wrong I was about him. He isn't cold at all, is he?"

I sighed, "No. I would most certainly say he is not cold. And sometimes, Mother...he is not even reserved. Not at all."

"Sometimes," she said, her face softening, "I have the urge to wrap my arms around him as I do Nicolas. He always looks a little...lost."

"Mama, if you would give Erik a hug, you would undoubtedly cause him to have a heart attack," I said solemnly. "I on the other hand, would love it."

--------------

I did go upstairs and take a nap, but woke up in a groggy haze, wondering what time it was...and why I had bothered sleeping at all, because I felt worse than before. Erik was downstairs sitting alone in his workroom, gazing vacantly at the fireplace.

I observed him for a moment without his knowledge, watching the fire dance across his face, half of it turned in profile. From this angle, the mask was not visible and I felt a sudden pain that I felt guilty for feeling. I didn't wish it for myself though, I wished it for him: that his face was complete.

To me, he was simply Erik, and was handsome and perfect the way he was. But for his sake...I did wish he had been born like everyone else. I wished he had been loved and protected as a child...as a young man.

Now I would offer it to him as an adult, and watch as he continually struggled to make peace with his past...and the uncertainty of his future.

His expression now was troubled, as if there were some great burden placed on him once more. His thumb traced absently over the silver compass in his hand, something I now recognized he did when he was agitated or nervous.

I walked farther into the room, seeing him glance at me and then seeing his hand move slightly as the compass disappeared. I wondered if he hid it as a habit as well, or if he did not want me to know he found comfort in it as often as he did.

"Was your sleep pleasant?" he asked quietly, still staring into the fire.

I sank beside him on the sofa and curled my feet beneath me. "I would have been better off staying awake. Now I feel grumpy."

His mouth upturned ever so slightly, but he didn't comment.

"What are you thinking about?"

His eyes slid from the fire to his knees, "Who says I'm thinking about anything?"

I stared at him until I saw his eyes return to the fire, and he sighed heavily.

"Marie," he said quietly.

"Your mother's friend?"

He nodded, "I was wondering if she was still alive. If she remembered...," he laughed softly, "..._of course_ she remembers...who could forget _my_ face? But if she still lives...she may know something about my fathers family."

"She lives in Boscherville?"

He nodded again, "I won't return there, but I am thinking of sending her a note. I...I returned there briefly once. My mother had died, but I was three days too late. She was dead when I arrived."

"Did you know she was going to die?" I whispered, sliding closer to him.

"No. I didn't even think she would have remained in Boscherville. I assumed she had married a man...a doctor who she knew. They were going to lock me in an asylum," he said tightly, "but I ran away. I had been injured...some people from the village came and killed our dog, and tried to kill me. Doctor Bayre saved my life, I suppose, but I heard them talking...or rather, him talking...I guess my mother changed her mind about marrying him, but in any case, I was gone when she woke up the next morning."

"My God, Erik, how old were you?" I demanded.

He shrugged, "Nine?"

"The people in Boscherville were going to kill a nine year old boy? And your mother was-"

I stopped...I was getting very angry, and all at once. The cruel mistreatment of this man...the man I loved with my entire heart...was painful. It hurt me, truly hurt me, that he had been done this way. And what was worse, he spoke with careless resignation, as if he had expected it all along, and received something not quite as bad as he was dealt.

I knew for certain though...he did not want my tears. I had done that once, and I knew how much he hated being pitied. I clenched my fists at my sides, out of his sight, and drew a deep breath.

"Your mother was sending you to an asylum?" I asked calmly. "On what specific grounds?"

His head lowered, "She wanted to be rid of me...so she could marry Doctor Bayre. I was a wicked child...nothing like Nicolas. Nothing like any other child, I suppose. She wanted to marry him, but for some reason changed her mind."

Could it have been guilt? I wondered. Had Madeleine changed her mind after witnessing the near death of her son? If that was it, she had certainly been too late. I was not sorry she had died feeling that burden, but I was sorry Erik had never had the chance to speak with her again.

"Children are not evil, Erik. Your mother was not normal. Normal mothers do not tell their children they will be put in asylum."

"She left everything to me," he said quietly. "The house, all its contents...things that belonged to her parents. I gave most of it to Marie...except her bedroom furniture. It had been my parents wedding present...I was born in that bed...she died in it."

I reached for him, although he ended up holding me, lying half across his lap and propped on the armrest. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "Very sorry."

He tightened his arms around me, and I rested my head against his, stroking his hair lightly.

"I never really thought about my father's family. I always wondered if thing would have been different...if he had lived...he died at a building site, working. Masonry or something hit him. But I couldn't help but think about his family today, wondering if they would care to see his morbid son, or the family I have now."

"Stop," I whispered fiercely. "Stop calling yourself that."

I turned my head and kissed him, willing him to not disgrace himself that way. I never wanted him to think those things...say those words about himself. He had said them too often, and I knew he believed them. I desperately wanted to undo all the damage everyone had ever done to him...as well as the damage he had done to himself.

"You are better than this, Erik. Forget everything you've ever heard...ever believed...trust me," I pleaded softly. "You are _not_ a monster...you are _not_ wicked, _not_ morbid. You are wonderful, and I love you. Nicolas loves you. I think...with a little encouragement my mother will love you," I said teasingly, attempting to withdraw a smile from him. Getting nothing, I lowered my mouth to his ear. "She wants to hug you," I whispered conspiratorially.

"I...excuse me?" he stammered, drawing his head away from me. "_Excuse me_?"

"My mother wants to hug you," I replied calmly. "I told her it would likely give you a heart attack, but that she should feel free to do it."

"_What?"_

"I'm teasing...not about the hug. Only about that last part," I smiled at him.

"Okay," he said giving me a wary look. "I...I think I'll steer clear of her, if its all the same to you."

I sighed, "I am serious about you stopping the disparaging remarks about yourself. I don't want to hear them anymore. They are not true, and I don't want you repeating them."

"Laure-"

"I mean it," I said firmly. "I love you, and I don't want to watch you destroying yourself at every turn, using your own vocabulary to damage your confidence. If you don't say them, you'll stop believing them, because you certainly aren't going to hear them from me, or anyone else in this family."

He stared at me for a long time, his eyes flickering with doubt and pain, and oddly desire. His eyes settled on my mouth, his lips parting slightly, so I leaned in and kissed him, giving him what he wanted. I would never deny him a kiss again. I had cast myself in the same category as his mother and Christine, and had no wish to ever hurt him again.

I kissed him with gentleness, although he was gripping me tightly, his own need felt clearly beneath my hip, his breathing harsh and loud inside my mouth. Passion clouded my mind as he filled my senses, and we lost the world around us in the growing, consuming fire. His hand had just slid from my waist to my breast when I heard my mother's sharp gasp from the doorway.

I lifted my head to see her staring at us with horror, her hands pressed against her mouth for a moment as she struggled to think of the reason she had come in here for.

"Is dinner ready?" I asked with a lazy smile.

Erik, just realizing that we weren't alone released my breast quickly, and jerked around to look at my mother.

I would have stood, but he kept his hands firmly around my waist. Distantly, I realized the reason he might not want me to stand, although I was having a hard time thinking of anything.

"Yes," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I'll know better next time..."

She turned and walked quickly from the room.

"Well," I said calmly, looking down at Erik's mortified face, "at least you're safe from getting a hug for the time being."


	31. Heirs

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**_Remember...no mob..._**

_Erik_

Staring at the detailed sketch of the hill that Laure had drawn for me, I willed something to come to mind...something arresting and magnificent, something that would immediately catch the eyes of the men who would be looking at the plans.

I would, of course, be submitting them anonymously again, and at some point today Nicolas and I would meet with the young man that Jules had recommended as a sort of apprentice, sort of lead mason for the site. I knew he was just barely older than Nicolas, and had worked under Jules for about two years. I also knew he was not from Paris, and had no interest whatsoever in theater or opera. Not that the connection could be made, necessarily. I had discovered most of Paris did not believe in the Phantom, and those that did assumed he had indeed been a ghost.

For all the young man knew, I had been injured during a building's construction...or perhaps in the war...it really did not matter as I had no intentions of elaborating, and knew that no one else dared to breathe a word.

I had already cautioned Nicolas on telling anymore people about his strange father. He had told the big Irishman from Corsica, and that had been enough.

But for now...I was having a hard time remembering how I had ever drawn a buiding in the first place. My mind was far away, in a little village southwest of Rouen. I was hoping Marie Perrault was indeed alive, and I was wondering if I had the nerve to send the letter I had written, asking for information about my father.

I had told her about my family, wanting to at least have something good to tell her about myself, after all these years. I had been raw and angry when I had last seen her, when I had found out my mother had died, and that she had never left Boscherville. I knew I had frightened her, and apologized to her for my behavior. Marie had always been decent to me, although I had deliberately been cruel to her. She had given me a little affection, but it wasn't her affection I wanted.

Perhaps if I had latched onto her, instead of seeking my mother's love and attention, she would have given it to me. Perhaps not, but in any case, the letter sat mocking me on my desk. I felt it behind me, as one feels a flame or hears a shout on the wind, and its presence touched the back of my neck with irritating vulgarity.

Soon I would either turn and rip it to shreds, or toss it into the fire. Or I would beg someone to take it to Post for me. My decision had almost been reached when Nicolas came striding in, windblown and boyish looking with a smile for me.

"I've been riding the chestnut around the estate, Father. I think I'm ready for a neck or nothing race. What do you say?"

I stared in silence for a moment, unsure if he was teasing or not. After two aborted attempts to teach him something about riding, I had given up. He didn't want to be treated like a child, and had managed quite well learning how to balance on his own. The instruction I had given him on how to maneuver the horse had been met with scorn, and he assured me he wasn't ignorant. The only advice I had been able to offer was on how to conduct oneself around a horse, and the proper way to treat them before, during, and after a ride.

"I assume you are joking," I said, looking back down at the sketch. "Your mother would have my hide if she heard you suggesting a race."

"Ah," he sighed, "perhaps we could go for a mere ride then?"

I considered his words, and the letter behind me on the desk, "I'm not in the mood for getting thrown today, Nicolas. If I take the gray out, we're going to be _walking_."

I had ridden him yesterday, and in addition to getting bit again, he had tried to kick me twice, and nearly succeeded in showing me what he considered was a proper dismount. I was going to have to slow down with him...and perhaps purchase another horse more suitable to riding...but in the meantime I was stuck.

If Nadir bothered to come back here, I was going to put that cat's collar right in his front pocket.

"Fine, fine," he sighed again.

I grabbed the damned letter from the desk, and followed him out towards the stable.

-------------------

I had been avoiding Clare for the last two days...really having no desire to meet her eyes lest she decide I really did need a hug...and not wanting to know what she thought of me groping Laure in my office. She hadn't had much to say to me, although she did smile as she set my plate in front of me, and bit her lip each time I entered the room with her.

Today she was out in the rose garden, pruning the dead crowns heavily with dull tools and no gloves. The winter wind was making her cheeks red, and her lips were cracked and dry. With a grimace I knelt beside her, "Clare, there really is no need for you to do all these things," I said softly. "I really ought to hire someone to do these things for me."

Her mouth parted, her eyes widening with shock, "I'm sorry," she said nervously, "I just assumed...I didn't mean to offend you."

"You haven't," I said quickly, "but it is cold out here...and your hands..."

I glanced down at her hands, looking frozen and stiff, scratched and laced with blood from the thorns.

"Oh," she looked down and flexed them, "my hands are practically made of leather. I've been gardening all my life," she laughed slightly, "my daughter has no interest in this sort of thing, or cooking...poor you...but I really enjoy it. It relaxes me, as I'm sure music does for you."

I nodded slightly, "If you will allow me, I will bring you back proper tools. And gloves."

"Thank you," she whispered, her eyes brightening.

Too late, I realized her intentions...but she merely placed a hand on my arm and squeezed. As if sensing my discomfort she released me almost immediately.

"You're welcome," I said a bit breathlessly, then stood and walked the rest of the way to the stables.

I saddled the gray quickly and we set off, moving down the lane towards the Post...and somewhere that I could procure gardening tools and ladies gloves. I wondered if Laure wanted her parents to live here...and I wondered if it would bother me if they did.

The house was certainly large enough for all of us, and I really had begun looking forward to her mother's cooking, and sitting down with them all was no less nerve racking, but it was easier when Laure would smile at me and speak directly to me.

I even found it easier to converse with Nicolas and Vincent.

It was her mother that constantly threw me off balance. I still remembered Laure's warning of thrown vegetables and menacing utensils...combined with her sudden outbursts and tendency to cry, she terrified me. I still remember all too clearly her breaking down with Laure, both of them sobbing hysterically on the Bourne's front porch after I had been fighting. I was not eager to comfort Laure when she was crying like that...and did not know how...but _two_ women?

I shied away from merely thinking about it.

I had been so certain that she didn't like me at all...what mother would? But I saw glimpses of something in her sometimes...she almost reminded me of Marie, although I could never imagine Marie throwing anything, or being so dramatic as to point a ladle at anyone.

_Marie._

My hand reached up and touched the letter absently, and I glanced at Nicolas as we rode toward the Post.

Would he be eager to know if he had any family, beyond me? I knew Vincent had family in Ireland, although they were not close. But if I had family so near...perhaps in Rouen, where my parents had met...where my mother had grown up...what if they still existed? What if my father had brothers and sisters? What if, I wondered, I still had grandparents? Was that possible? My father had been thirty two when he died. It would make him sixty seven today. No. It was unlikely...but uncles, aunts, cousins...that was still possible.

My gut tightened just thinking about it.

Perhaps I could offer my family...Laure and Nicolas, the baby. Maybe they could be the ones that drew in the attention, but at least I would have the satisfaction of knowing...knowing I belonged to a family, other than the one I already had. I didn't need them...my relatives...but I wanted to know if they existed or not. I had a desire suddenly, to read the name on the will of my mother's that I had deliberately ignored when I was younger.

To know my name.

I could even perhaps, find out my date of birth.

All things I had chosen to ignore, because I scorned them when I was twenty five. I had made myself believe that it didn't matter, that my ancestors, my family...if I had any left...would not want me anyway. But now I had something to offer.

If not myself...then heirs.


	32. The Apprentice

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_**I'm going to speed things up about halfway through this chapter. Hope it doesn't confuse you too much.**_

_Erik_

When we arrived back at the estate, Jules was waiting in my workroom with Robert Morse, a tall, slender, fair headed young man, whose exuberant greeting nearly cost him his position. Once I sat down, and stared at him for several moments, his cheerful manner had cooled enough for me to talk business with him.

"You've worked for Monsieur Bernard for two years?" I asked quietly. "Have you been involved in all aspects of architecture, or were you merely a messenger?"

"Sir, I did everything for Monsieur Bernard from fetching coffee to the building site for the men, to cutting and laying stone myself. I also commanded his crew once I had a little more experience," he said with a half smile, "and I was involved in planning details for the reconstruction of Saint Louis Academy, which was completed not four months ago."

"Why aren't you completing your apprenticeship with Bernard?" I demanded.

"Monsieur Bernard...," he said hesitantly, casting a nervous look at him, "...he said I would be foolish not to seize this opportunity. I looked over your designs from...well from several years ago. I am in awe of you, sir."

"I haven't worked for a very long time," I cautioned him, "don't expect miracles."

I glanced at Nicolas as I said it, hoping he took the words to heart as well.

"May I ask, sir, what have you built?"

The question irritated me, because there was nothing worthy I could tell him.

"I apprenticed with a brilliant man in Rome when I was younger than you, and went on to build a palace in Persia for the shah-in-shah. After I returned to Europe I built houses, and shortly afterwards I made a brief acquaintance with Charles Garnier. I worked with him, but then," I paused and glanced at Jules, "I settled into brief retirement. Does that satisfy you?"

"Yes, sir."

"You will be here at first light every morning, unless I have indicated you are to meet me at the building site. If you are late, or miss even one day without excuse or prior notification, our arrangement will be terminated. I warn you that your absence will only be excused in cases of dire emergency. Those situations include death and missing limbs," I said curtly. "That means your own."

"Yes, sir."

"This is my son, Nicolas. He is a naval architect, but will be learning the trade of masonry and building architecture. This is his first such endeavor, although I assure you he will learn quickly, and possibly surpass even my knowledge by the time the final stone is set into place."

* * *

Once the letter was sent off, I found it all to easy to forget its existence, and threw myself into the plans for the library. Nicolas, Robert, and I spent countless hours at the site, redrawing...refiguring, measuring, remeasuring...until I at least knew the dimensions the library should have. Area would have to be figured in for a roadway as well, leading up to the hill, and enough room for carriages and people to move about. I could already see that some sort of false ground would have to be constructed to keep the flow of traffic smooth. Perhaps some variation of a terrace, although I wanted it to look natural, as if it belonged there, and not an abomination resting on top of a hill.

Each night I spent hours staring at drawings, scowling, then tossing them aside. I knew what I wanted, but for the life of me I could not put it on paper. Detailed plans be damned...I couldn't even do a rough sketch.

Robert turned out to be an excellent choice, although I did tire of puppy worship on occasion. I could see that Jules had filled his head with all sorts of nonsense about me, but I did little to dissuade him from making a fool of himself. Nicolas thought it was highly amusing, and I did as well.

Days were filled up with planning, drawing, redrawing...until I finally had an idea of what I really wanted. Robert was surprisingly helpful once he understood what I wanted, and the frustration I felt. He drew three or four simple lines on the paper, and I stared at it for a moment. An epiphany hit like a ton of marble.

"No," I said sharply, then, "...like this."

I changed the design rapidly, until at my disposal to gaze at was the library's outer shell. The dome...tuscan order columns...equilateral pointed arches for the windows. It was going to be beautiful...symmetrical...timeless. Nicolas and Robert watched over my shoulder as I began...and completed the sketch.

"Incredible," Robert said softly. "I've never seen anything quite like it."

I sighed and threw down my pencil, rubbing my aching neck.

"Take the rest of today off," I said wearily. "We'll get started on the plans tomorrow morning."

The boys left laughing...having bonded greatly during the last week, and I went in search of Laure. I found her in the ballroom, where I promptly picked the lock and moved behind her, watching as she painted a picture of the lake.

"You know," I said near her ear, making her jump, "you should take your easel down to the lake sometime to paint. That way your inspiration will be near."

"Erik! You are supposed to knock," she reminded me in a tense voice.

"But you never let me in here when I knock," I reasoned gently.

I slid my hands around her waist, loving her sigh as she gave up on being angry with me.

"You've been working all week," she murmured. "I've barely seen you during the day. I was beginning to wonder if you'd turned into a vampire."

In response, I nuzzled her neck and bit gently, growling in her ear. She laughed and set her palette down, "I don't think vampires growl."

"Perhaps I'm a werewolf then," I whispered, biting her again. "Or perhaps I'm just a wolf."

I had noticed, although I hadn't said anything, that her dresses were fitting tighter, and she had become...fuller...throughout. She no longer allowed me to grope frantically at her breasts while we made love, claiming they were tender and aching, and usually fell asleep immediately afterwards, as if the act had simply exhausted her.

She had not been sick even one morning this week, or since I had arrived for that matter, but I was going to have to say something about her dresses. I couldn't have my wife running around in obvious discomfort.

"Do you have need of a modiste?" I asked gently, spanning her ribs with my hands.

"Is that you're way of saying I'm fat?" she chuckled.

"Your dress is very tight," I said, wincing. "I would never think you are fat. You are not fat."

"My mother is going to alter a couple," she sighed. "I think they're going to return to Corsica in a few days. I'm going to miss them."

I had not yet voiced my opinion of them staying, and she had not asked. The invitation had possibly already been extended, without my knowledge, but I felt compelled to give my permission now.

"Why don't you ask them to live here?"

"I wasn't sure what you would say," she sighed. "I have actually demanded that my mother stay, but it was not taken seriously. I haven't said anything to my father, though."

"Cherbourg will still be there after the baby is born. I know you want her here, and honestly I'm not looking forward to having a maid as the sole caretaker of this house. Your mother does not have to do anything, of course, but she seems to enjoy what she does...perhaps she wouldn't mind hiring someone, screening them herself?"

"She would love it," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Mother lives for this sort of thing. But I know they will return to Corsica to retrieve their things...and bring Oman back. He probably feels abandoned."

"I gave Robert and Nicolas the rest of today off. Is there anything you'd like to do?" I asked, pressing a kiss to her head. Then her cheek.

"Ah," she murmured. "I can see where this is going."

"Do you?" I asked, with an innocent smile, and a wicked gleam in my eyes.

"Yes...you want to go shopping."


	33. Gaining a Tenant, and a Houseguest

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Shopping was the last thing he wanted to do, but I bullied him into going anyway. It was the first time I had ever seen him wearing a hat, and I chuckled despite the elegance and masculine look it gave him. He looked rather...haughty. Especially when he scowled at me from his side of the cart's bench. We were going to purchase a carriage, furniture for his study, and whatever else I could talk him into buying. I wanted to visit Nadir on our way home and offer him the dower house. He hadn't come by since the night of my birthday, and I wanted him to know he was welcome anytime.

We stopped first and bought a carriage, a sleek, black lacquered coupe that would be easily pulled by one horse. Erik paid the man to have it delivered to the house, and offered him an extra two hundred francs for the bay mare that went along with it, provided it was also broke to ride, and gentle.

"Are you giving up on the gray?" I asked, smiling softly.

"No. I'm letting him mature a little more...and will be taking my time with him. A horse like that ought not be rushed," he said grimly. "He's going to be a handful."

Thinking of the bruises on his back, I thought he might be two handfuls.

"What kind of furniture do you think you'll want?" I asked, turning my attention back to the street.

So far we had indeed been stared at, but I made it a point to smile at each person, and they usually looked away. None had smiled back.

Erik was definitely not smiling.

"Comfortable," he mumbled. "Nothing...womanly."

"Of course," I said sagely. "You are a man, after all."

We stopped by Blackners, a store owned by an Englishman, who was all too eager to supply Erik with what he wanted...and he was very excited indeed when Erik purchased everything solely from him. He even offered us delivery, saying our cart horse shouldn't be burdened with such an enormous load of furniture. He bought everything including a large desk, chairs, tables, rugs, and even lamps. His paintings, he said, would be provided by his wife.

Erik went through the store so quickly, pointing to what he wanted, that I merely remained behind, containing my mirth as the Englishman struggled to keep up with Erik's demands.

"This," he said, pointing first at a large leather chair, "and this," he pointed at a footstool, "and this," he again pointed to another chair.

It was like watching my mother cook. She threw things together in such a haphazard fashion I had abandoned all hope of ever learning anything from her. Somehow I knew, like her pot roast, Erik's study would be perfect.

With seemingly boundless energy, the man followed him around the store, until at last Erik stopped before me, a slight frown on his face.

"I suppose this is enough."

Enough? I wasn't even sure these things would fit inside the room. Not that we didn't have somewhere else to put them, but I was pretty sure the room was going to be quite full.

"Thank you, Monsieur Sagesse," the man said, perspiring greatly. "I will have these delivered first thing."

"First thing?" Erik echoed. "Today, or tomorrow?"

"Er...well, today, of course!"

"Very good. I shall be expecting them," he said, dismissing him.

I stared reproachfully for a minute. "You were very rude to him."

"Sometimes that is the only thing that works," he sighed. "People do not take me seriously if I ask for things politely. I find the best way to handle this type of situation, is to take the initiative, and not allow them a chance to refuse me."

"Refuse you?"

He gave me a wary glance, "I have been refused service in places such as this. I have been denied hotel rooms...even in the most pitiful slums of this world. No one wants me in their vicinity, Laure. The good people of this world do not want to see me."

"I debate your use of the term _good people_," I said stiffly. "If you want me to do this sort of thing for you from now on, I will. But I would rather do it at your side."

He escorted me out to the cart, and turned towards Nadir's apartment. After a lengthy silence, in which I had grown angry at the _good people_ of the world who carelessly mistreated him, he finally whispered, "I have much to thank you for, Laure. I would never shame you by not appearing in public with you...I don't want you to be ridiculed for having an absent husband any longer. I don't want to be a recluse at the cost of your reputation."

"Erik, you could never shame me. And I couldn't give two figs about my reputation. Your security is more important to me than anything. I want you to feel loved, safe, at all times. I don't want the world to drive you into seclusion again...but I don't want you to expose yourself to it, because I know it hurts. I hope that with me here, the impact is lessened, and people will put aside their misgivings about you. I hope that everyone can see what I see."

He turned his head towards me, his green eyes beautiful and intense, "I don't know what it is you see," he said softly, "but I'm quite certain no one else can see it, but you."

On the way to Nadir's, he stopped by an employment agency long enough for me to run in and apply for the services of a maid and cook. The man told me he would send by several prospects within the next few days, and offered to send a gardener out as well when he found out the estate we were living on. When I returned to the carriage, a puzzled look on my face, Erik inquired about what was wrong.

"Thomas Hurnard," I said slowly. "Have you even met him yet?"

"No," he said, surprise flickering in his eyes. "Have you?"

"Once. He is quite old," I said, frowning. "We really ought to check on him once we return."

"Nice," he muttered, "the last thing I need on my new property is a dead body."

"That wasn't very considerate of you," I said, giving him a sidelong look. "He really is old. And he really could be dead."

His mouth tightened, but he continued towards Nadir's apartment, a look of definite irritation on his face.

* * *

"The dower house?" Nadir repeated, looking from me to Erik. "You want me to move to your estate?" 

"Yes, please," I said simply.

"Why?"

"My wife seems to think you would find it...more appealing...than this," he gestured to the apartment. "She wants her, _dear friend_, to come live near us."

He spoke with clipped sarcasm, but I knew he was deliberately covering up what he knew Nadir would scorn...kindness, and pity.

"I don't know...," he said doubtfully. "I have lived here for many, many years."

"It has a very nice view of the park," I said brightly. "There is a garden-"

"A fountain," Erik interrupted quickly. "A water fountain."

Nadir's eyes seemed to light up for a moment, then he shook his head slightly. "I don't know. This seems very sudden."

"Take all the time you need," I said encouragingly. "Its yours, whenever you want it."

"Erik?" Nadir looked at him levelly.

"As she said," he returned quietly. "It is yours. My friend."

Nadir immediately accepted, and set Darius to packing, deciding he would ride with us to the estate to see what the dower house would need. I could tell he was touched by our offer, and that he was indeed interested in moving out of the dark, slightly shabby apartment. I doubted any of his neighbors would miss him, as he tended to keep to himself, but Erik had told me that Nadir had a _lady friend_ in Paris, and he would like to have easy access to transportation so he could visit her.

"Why hasn't he married?" I had asked him.

"He had a wife...and a son. They both died," he'd said softly, his eyes looking particularly sad. "I don't think Nadir will ever marry again. Rookheeya was his soul mate. Reza was his only child. Nothing could replace either of them."

The knowledge of his family saddened me. I wondered if he missed Persia, and if he regretted his exile...and the reason for it. Erik's survival had been imminent on Nadir's betrayal of the shah. Nadir's punishment had been swift, although not as severe as I expected. No doubt though, after a few years in the prison of Mazanderan, he had been taught exactly what true evil and horror really meant.

I was glad that he had accepted our offer, and knew he would love his new home. Perhaps I could even persuade Erik to sign the deed to him...or lease it to him the rest of his life. I wasn't sure what his pension was, but it would be increased a little by the lack of the exorbitant rent he had been paying on that little apartment.

When we arrived at the estate, as excited as I was about Nadir's home, I begged them to drop me off at the main house. I was very tired, and thought longingly of my bed upstairs. As I stepped through the front door though, I was met with a very strange person, indeed. A very odd, dowdy, old woman stood in the main hallway, talking with my mother. They both stopped when I came in, my mother smiling, the woman giving a fearful look at first, then a hesitant step forward.

"You must be Laure, dear," she said in a soft, somewhat clumsy manner. "I hope this isn't an intrusion. Really...I should have written first...but when Erik wrote to me, I was taken with such surprise, I couldn't help but come. It really isn't so far, with train travel and all-"

"Who are you?" I interrupted, in the most polite voice I could manage.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," she prattled on, her hands moving in excited animation. "I don't know if Erik has even mentioned me...I'm Marie. Marie Perrault."

* * *

My computer at home is messed up, so it may be a few days before you hear from me. Sorry... 


	34. The Dower, and the Castellan

Disclaimer: Different verse, same as the first. Not mine.

The limestone dower house was older than the main manor...I was certain Jules had not designed this one, as it was airy and definately more cheerful than the house I was sharing with Laure and Nicolas. Nadir walked around the upstairs, taking in the three bedrooms and two bath, as well as a small parlor, and downstairs to the larger sitting room and the charming kitchen and dining area.

"Well?" I said, impatiently. "Does it meet with your approval?"

"It does," he said thoughtfully. "Are you sure you don't mind me living here?"

"Of course not," I snorted, not wanting him to know that I did, in fact, like the idea. A great deal. It meant I wouldn't have to leave my property to visit him. Nothing more. "I assume you'll also want to keep a horse, since you haven't had one since you left Persia. My stable is large enough...and...," I gave him a wicked smile, "...you can help me with that damn gray you saw fit to recommend."

He tried to hid his amusement, but failed. "About the furnishings," he said, eager to change the subject. "I'll need to borrow your cart, if you don't mind."

"Take it," I said dismissively. "I need to visit the castellan anyway. You can drop me off there on your way out."

We went back out to the cart, where the chestnut stood nearly asleep beneath a giant oak tree, content with dreaming of the summer, when he could shed his growing coat and roll in the hot sunshine. Nadir took the reins and guided us to the opposite side of the lake, to the small cottage where Thomas Hurnard lived.

Smoke puffed from a picturesque chimney, telling me that at least he wasn't dead, or rather, he hadn't been when he built the fire. I leapt from the carriage and waved Nadir off, walking up the stone pathway. The door opened before I could reach it, and an elderly man peered out at me from the dark interior.

"Who is it?" he demanded, and I knew at once he couldn't see a bloody thing. No wonder he had not tried to meet with me. He probably feared he would be released from his position for being half blind.

"I am Erik Sagesse, Monsieur Hurnard, the new owner of the estate."

"Sagesse, you say? Well come in, come in. Let's get this out of the way," he said, opening the door wide. "I'm afraid I have been rather busy this week, you see, cleaning up around that old dower house, fixing the fountain. I expected you to be by earlier...," he trailed off, a vacant look entering his watery blue eyes.

I waited for him to fill the silence, to elaborate on the rest of his story, but he seemed to forget I was present.

"Monsieur?"

He blinked rapidly, "Yes? Sagesse, you say?"

"Monsieur Hurnard," I said patiently, "I thank you for being in service all these years to the estate, and I hope I can persuade you to stay here. I'd like to employ you for as long as you like, provided you do not...overwhelm yourself...this being such a large park. My wife said something about some sheep...?"

"Ah, yes, I remember. I remember," he said, but I could see that there was very little he could remember.

I would allow him to remain here, and tinker about, as long as he pleased. He had to be in his eighties. There was no way I could turn him out into the streets.

"I may raise a few sheep, but I'm more interested in the three horses I now possess. If you are capable, you may groom them from time to time, but my son Nicolas can handle the cleaning of the stalls. I must warn you, stay away from that gray stallion. He is mine," I said firmly. "He is very tempermental. I will deal with him myself."

"Of course," he said, "a man's got a right to tend his own horse. Good for you, I say."

"Very well," I said, looking around the cottage for a moment. He appeared to not have much in the way of possessions, and his appearance was slightly disheveled. His entire home, for that matter, was slightly disheveled. "I'll be hiring a maid, she can come in here and clean once a week, and a cook will prepare meals for you. A friend of mine will be staying in the dower house. Nadir Khan. Also, whatever Jules Bernard paid you to stay here, consider it tripled."

"Tripled?" he laughed, "I'll believe it when I see it. And Khan, you say? Unusual name, is it not?"

"He is an unusual fellow," I said wryly. "He's from Persia."

"Paris?"

"Persia," I said louder, grimacing. He was a harmless old man, really, but he was getting on my last nerve. "Good day to you, Monsieur Hurnard. It was a pleasure meeting you." And an experience.

"Good day, Monsieur. Good day."

I finally left the old man, teetering precariously on his feet at the door. I honestly didn't see how he was able to do anything around here, although it appeared somehow he managed. I only hoped he didn't teeter on out into the lake...and manage to drown himself. Perhaps having a maid come in once a week wasn't a bad idea. She could make sure he hadn't managed to slip off into the hereafter during the night.

* * *

I know this is short, but I typed it at work...right out of my head too...and its probably all I'll be able to do for a couple of days. Hopefully not, but we'll have to see. Also, any spelling errors, forgive me. I typed this by exporting a chapter, and replacing it with this. I used the documents manager to create this chapter, so there is probably alot wrong with it. 


	35. Marie, Dear

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

"You're Marie?" I asked, my jaw dropping in shock. "Marie...from Erik's childhood?"

She nodded, her frizzy, silver and carrot colored hair shining in the lights from the hallway. "Again, I do apologize for dropping in, I was just so surprised to hear from him...and I really did wish to see him. Madeleine has been gone so long, and really, he's the only link I have to her. Some days I still miss her so dreadfully. We lived next to one another for twenty five years, and I visited her almost every day," she paused and finally took a breath. "I'm not intruding, am I?"

I stared at her, and slowly shook my head, but inside my mind was racing. She missed _Madeleine_? She had come here, because Erik was the only link...or had he invited her? I was more than annoyed that he hadn't shared the fact that he had already sent the letter, or that he'd actually written one.

"Erik said he had a wife, and a son...and a baby on the way. I must say, I couldn't have been more surprised," she said, her hands continually flying around in nervous animation. "I didn't want to pass up the opportunity to meet you...and Nicolas...correct? I've been alone, you know, for the last few years. Ever since my mother died...Madeleine seven years before that. I really couldn't stand another minute in that house alone...and with all the money Erik left me...I really did want to see him in person. To thank him, and of course give him what little information I have about Charles."

"Charles?"

"His father," she said, her brows raising. "Of course, Erik never met him...he died you know...while Madeleine was six months along. Poor Madeleine, she had such a heavy burden."

"Poor _Madeleine_?" I said sharply. "You think _Madeleine_ had a heavy burden?"

"Oh, dear," she whispered, looking at my mother for help. "I didn't mean it quite like that. I didn't mean because of Erik...he never did anything to deserve what she did to him. Not once. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be discussing this with you. Erik never wanted to hear about it. I certainly shouldn't bring it up now."

"Bring what up now?"

We all turned to see Erik standing in the doorway, his hat in his hands, his eyes fixed on Marie. To my surprise, he executed a small, formal bow, and said politely, "Mademoiselle Perrault. It is a surprise to see you."

Not a pleasant surprise. Not a welcoming surprise. Just a surprise. I hid my smile as Marie Perrault turned white, then burst into noisy tears.

My mother, ever the comforting angel, helped Marie into the parlor and seated her beside the fireplace. Erik and I stared at each other for a moment in the hallway, "I'm sorry, Laure. I had no idea she would come here."

I moved towards him, out of sight of the parlor, and took his hands in mine. I could tell he was anxious, although this time I didn't need the compass to see it. His mouth was set in a grim line, a look of doom in his eyes. He had wanted this...but perhaps had not expected it so soon.

"This is your home," I smiled slightly. "You may invite anyone you wish."

"I didn't invite her."

"Well," I said quietly. "She is here. You told me she...protected you...that must mean you two had some affection for each other."

He shook his head, "No. I wouldn't say that. I...Marie is a very...nervous person. I deliberately did things to make her more...nervous. She did defend me a few times...she even slapped my mother once...," he trailed off, his eyes closing as some memory assaulted him. "She gave me my first present...a birthday present, actually, although my mother would not let me have it," he paused for a moment, and touched his mask. "Maybe not my first present," he whispered tightly.

I felt my stomach turn at his implied words. His first present...and I presumed to know where it had come from...his wretched mother. She had done it so she would not have to look at him. I did now, and it broke my heart to see the painful past staring him in the face. I couldn't breathe, thinking of his mother, and the cruel things she had done to him.

"Oh, God," I mumbled, feeling like I was going to drown on the sudden tears that flowed into my eyes. "Oh, Erik, no. _No_."

His eyes closed again, and his hand fell away from his face.

"Don't, Laure," he said softly. "It's in the past."

But it wasn't. Nothing would ever put that in the past...make him forget that humiliation. The degrading thing that she had done, removing his very identity, making him into some faceless entity, because he was less than what she considered perfect. Hadn't everything else made up for that? His music, his intelligence? What mother could deny her child laughter and joy? How could she make him feel so unloved? So unworthy of even the most basic of human affection, make him feel so unworthy...and not kiss him? How could she have done that to him?  
It was hard to imagine denying him these things now...as a man...but as a child? An infant, a six year old boy, growing into a nine year old...when he had decided to take control of his own life and ran away from his cruel mother, and her evil doctor friend.

I slid my hands up his arms and around his neck, bringing his lips firmly down onto mine. Not a kiss of passion...but of comfort...of love. I would tell him with touch that he was desirable...worthy of affection...worthy of love. If I had to do this one thousand times a day for him, I would do it.

"I love you," I said softly, pressing another kiss to his lips. I searched his eyes, looking deep into his as I said the words once more.

"You're beautiful and passionate when you're upset," he murmured, leaning down to kiss me again. "But there is no need. We must join your mother and Marie, and we can discuss this later."

"Do you want to be alone with her?" I asked quietly.

"No," he said gently, his arms tightening around me. "No, I don't want to ever be alone again."

* * *

Marie was still crying when we entered the room, and he took a seat across from her, and waited patiently while she struggled to control her emotions. I stood behind his chair with my hands on his shoulders, gripping them lightly, looking down into his thick, slightly wavy hair.

"Erik, dear," she whispered, looking up at him, "I'm sorry for stopping by like this. I'm terribly sorry...I realize what a mistake I have made. Forgive me. Oh, please, don't be angry with me."

"Calm yourself," he said softly. "My temper has receded a great deal from the last time we spoke. Besides, I have initiated the renewal of this...acquaintance, have I not? I have found it easier to deal with discussing my mother in recent days," he glanced up at me as he spoke, "and I believe last time I was considerably upset finding that she had died, a mere three days before I arrived in Boscherville."

My mother's head turned sharply when he said that, her lips parting in shock. She looked at me for a moment, a look of horror and sadness in her eyes, and I feared for several seconds that she would make good on her wish to hug him.

"I...I brought the will," she said, digging into her cloak for a thick legal document. "You left so quickly that night...you didn't even look at it."

She sat forward and handed it to him, her eyes remaining on the floor the entire time. Erik took it without looking...again...and stuffed it inside his own cloak.

"Would you like that information now?" she asked softly.

"Perhaps later," he said hastily, standing up suddenly. "Yes, later."

"I wanted to tell you some things before...but you wouldn't listen," she whispered, looking at the floor.

"Later, Mademoiselle," he said stiffly. "You will stay for dinner."

It wasn't an invitation. It was an order, and unsurprisingly she accepted without hesitation.

"We can meet in my study after dinner. I am expecting some things to arrive this afternoon, and I will be occupied for the rest of the day. Perhaps you would like to take a room and relax for a few hours? You are, of course, welcome to stay as long as you like," he said with a courteous smile.

"Oh, my," she appeared flustered, "I wouldn't dream of...but thank you. I really must leave tomorrow morning, I have so many dear cats to take care of...but thank you."

"Laure, would you show Mademoiselle Perrault a room, please. I'm going to discover what is taking Blackners so long."

I knew he would do no such thing. He didn't care a whit about his furniture, but I did know he wanted to be alone. He bowed again to Marie, and left us. I assumed he was going to the stable...although now that I was going to be acting as hostess, I would not have the opportunity to find out.

Or nap.

"Mademoiselle, if you please," I murmured, giving my mother a helpless look.

I had no idea where I was taking her. Only five bedrooms of the twelve had been furnished.

"I know just the room," my mother said cheerily, giving me a wry smile. "Laure, Mademoiselle, please follow me."

* * *

Sorry you had to put up with me not updating...its my fault, really...the people at the internet company tend to frown when you do not pay your bill...smiles sheepishly Sorry. Really, really sorry. 


	36. Not a Gentleman

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

Marie was here.

I was in a black mood by the time I had sent the gray stallion around the corral for the hundredth time. He seemed to realize it, too, because he didn't give me any problems at all, and I wondered if I needed to always be this assertive with him. Perhaps he respected me, knowing I was in no mood to be either bitten or kicked. I quite possibly would have returned both of those favors, had he the inclination to do such a thing.

I had sent a letter, expecting to receive _a letter_ in return. Not Marie herself. She always had the uncanny ability to make me feel inadequate. When it came to entering a room, and speaking with someone, Clare even, I could do it. I had not been isolated my entire life. There had been a wealth of people I had met before I went to Paris. It was only when I returned from Persia that I began indulging in reclusive habits...and developing an aversion to humans in general.

It was easier to curb the urge to kill someone, when you do not spend time in anyone's company. I had promised Nadir, and for the most part, I had kept it.

But Marie...she had shown me kindness, if not affection, while I had been younger. I still recall the utter calmness she had possessed when she had plucked slivers of glass out of my hands and wrists. I had learned very young it is not wise to break a mirror with your fists.

I never returned the kindness to her. Indeed, I was so incensed that it had not been my mother doing the task...that my own mother drove me to such madness...and I had taken it out quite deliberately on Marie. She hadn't deserved it...she hadn't deserved me ever being rude to her, or intentionally frightening her. I had been enraged when I returned to Boscherville, to discover my mother was dead, only three days prior to my arrival.

Marie thought I was going to kill her, and truth be told it had crossed my mind, but only for a moment.

Now she was here, and very clearly had answers I wanted all my life, but had been too afraid to ask. I was once again in her debt for her kindness, and I was feeling very uncharacteristically fond of her. Fond! Of Marie, of all people!

And the thick document she handed me seemed to be burning a hole inside my clothing, pressed against my skin the way it was. Over my heart, in fact, and I had to force myself not to remove it and read it like a greedy child. It would bear the name I avoided looking at all those years ago. It would tell me a great deal about my father...or at least his possessions, and perhaps he had even left some things to his family.

I wondered if he had changed it before or after I was conceived. If he had thought to include some particular item for his son or daughter, that was to be just for them. I had taken nothing with me from that house, save the things that were inside my mother's bedroom. I wasn't sure why I took those things, unless it was a final act of defiance on my part. She wouldn't have wanted me to have her things. I had taken them, yes, but had never brought myself to sleep on it. I had let Christine...and the morbidness of it did not escaped me.

Turning the gray one final time, and seeing how eager he was today for my approval, I released him and he stepped towards me, calm and gentle. Not wanting to disturb the moment, I carefully let him out in the paddock for a roll in the grass before he ruined it by acting like a stallion.

As I was walking back towards the house, Robert and Nicolas were approaching from the direction of the lake.

"Father, Robert and I are going to build a boat for the lake. We were wondering if you would mind us building a boathouse. Robert has offered to design it, with your approval, of course," Nicolas said, smiling and windblown.

"Submit your building plan for me, Robert," I said carefully. "Make sure it is in uniformity with the rest of the estate."

Meaning I did not want something modern or out of character. The majority of this place, excluding the stable, looked as if it had been taken out of sixteenth century France. I suspected the dower house perhaps was in fact the main house, at one time. Jules had developed a very good likeness of a medieval estate, excluding the villages and tenants that would have been present.

"Of course, Monsieur Sagesse, sir. I'll get to work on that right away," Robert said, his blue eyes shining with eagerness.

I hoped he would soon tire of this...reverence...so that I could work without feeling as if I was exalted by him and Nicolas both. It was tiring, really.

"We have company, Nicolas. Mademoiselle Marie Perrault has come from Boscherville. I trust you will be available in time for dinner this evening," I said quietly. Glancing at Robert a moment, then back at Nicolas, I leaned close and whispered, "Marie is a friend of my mother's, Nicolas. I believe I told you about her."

His eyes widened, and he nodded, "Of course. The birthday. Are you angry that she's here?"

I sighed, "A little. But I brought this on myself, I suppose. I sent her a letter."

Robert interrupted us with a hasty farewell, obviously uncomfortable in the midst of a private discussion. Nicolas and I watched him stride down to the stable and retrieve his horse, then take off across the park, avoiding us entirely.

"Where is she now?"

"I suppose she's resting," I said softly. "I don't think your mother is pleased to have her here. She thinks...well...she thinks that she was more sympathetic to Madeleine..."

"But she's not, right?" he asked, glancing towards the house.

"I don't know, Nicolas. We're going to discuss it later."

"Well-"

He broke off as he caught sight of something over my shoulder. I turned to look, and three large horse drawn carts were coming up the drive. Mr. Blackner was sitting in the first one, looking nervous and excited as he waved to me from his position at the reins.

"Monsieur Sagesse," he said loudly, "I believe we have a delivery for you!"

Nicolas and I met them near the front entrance, and four men immediately began unloading the huge mountain of furniture from the carts. Nicolas opened the door for them, and showed them inside to the study.

"Thank you, Mr. Blackner," I said politely. "I appreciate you getting these things tended to today."

"Of course," he blustered. "You gave me more money today than I make in half a year! I've closed the store for the rest of the day, and called all my movers in just for you!"

"I am honored, monsieur."

He was an irritating little man, but at least he was efficient. When I went into the study, two of the men were standing in front of Laure's painting, their mouths hanging open. Nicolas was avoiding my eyes, but I suspected he had seen it before. She was clothed, yes, but nonetheless erotic.

I cleared my throat, hiding a smile.

_Yes, she's mine_. I wanted to say. _Mine, and mine alone._

They turned to look at me, "We apologize, monsieur. She's a very...enchanting lady."

"My _wife_, gentleman. If you don't mind, please continue unloading furniture," I barked out.

They quickly moved out of the room and returned with more furniture.

"Nicolas, help me move this damned desk," I said sharply, trying not to laugh at the expression on his face. It served him right, prying into things that were not his business.

We moved the desk near the hearth, adjusting it so that my back was neither to the painting, nor was I facing it. If he thought it funny that I positioned it so that I could look at the painting, he did not say. A gentleman, perhaps, would have removed the painting from his study, and put it somewhere a little less...noticeable.

This painting, would be noticeable anywhere it was placed...and I am not a gentleman. It would stay, and be a testament to my wife's beauty and passion. Of her love and devotion...and yes...her desire for me. I wasn't sure I would ever tire of looking at it, and now, I had the opportunity to do so at my leisure. I was certain that I wouldn't spend too much time alone in here, not with her looking down at me like that. I was certain, that gazing at it, would make me want her, and I would soon search rooms for her presence until I could put that look on her face myself.

_Don Juan Triumphed_, indeed!


	37. When the Mood Strikes

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

I woke up to the feeling of the bed shifting, and my eyes were barely open before Erik's face came into view, as well as his chest and those hands he was so skilled with.

"Are you going to sleep the remainder of the day?" he whispered against my skin, pausing to kiss my neck before he reached my lips.

"It crossed my mind," I murmured.

"Dinner is barely two hours away," he said softly, kissing me slowly. "How much time do you need to get ready?"

"Mmm," I sighed. "I don't think I need dinner."

As I said it, my stomach growled fiercely, causing Erik to chuckle against my mouth. "No dinner? I think not, Madame."

He sat up, his mouth pulled into a grim smile as he tugged me up beside him.

"Did Blackners arrive?" I asked softly, laying my head against his shoulder.

"Yes. Everything is in place."

I wondered if he would seclude himself in there the way he had before. I hoped not. I wanted him to open up, to all of us, although I knew how difficult it was to even open up to me. I leaned back slightly against the headboard, so I could see his face in the mirror above us. He glanced up a moment, and immediately began to scowl.

"I should move this bed," he muttered.

"Why?" I whispered seductively, "You don't seem to mind at night."

"That isn't the point. I...," he glared up at the mirror and met my eyes. "I hate them. I always have."

Sitting up quickly I scrambled across his legs to face him, placing my palms on either side of his head against the headboard.

"You are handsome," I said softly.

"Laure-"

He was immediately annoyed, I could tell. I kissed him, then forced his head back so that he had to look directly up. His eyes closed for a moment, then he opened them almost defiantly to stare at himself.

I wondered what he would do if I commanded him to say it. To say it aloud, to himself, while looking in a mirror. I knew instinctively he would hate it. He would feel hurt if I asked him to do such a thing. Instead, I whispered the words to him again, hoping that coming from me they were enough.

"Erik, you are handsome."

"You're being deliberately cruel," he said quietly, twisting his head out of my grasp. He stared off to the side of the bed, his mouth tight and eyes cold.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, feeling guilty for making him confront himself that way. Perhaps he was not ready. He might never be ready. He still woke up every morning and covered himself, his hand flying to his face when he saw his reflection in the mirror.

I had seen him do it twice, although I pretended to be asleep until he brought me the tea.

"You may move the bed if you wish," I said softly, trying to get him to look at me. "Or we could take the mirror down. My mother thinks its indecent."

His mouth turned up a little, until he visibly forced himself to frown.

"Indecent?" he said slowly. "Yes, I could see how she thinks that."

"Perhaps we should put the bed on wheels," I said with what I hoped was a serious face. "Then we could roll it around the room, placing it wherever we pleased."

He couldn't help but smile this time, and turned to look at me with a glint of green fire in his eyes, "I think that might be a problem as well. We'd never stop moving, would we?"

"Who says that would be a bad thing?"

His arms tightened around me as he pushed me to the side, his head lowering to mine once more. I could see him in the mirror above us, something I would never tire of looking at while he was in bed with me. That first night he arrived here...I thought I would simply die of pleasure, but had kept the secret all to myself, until he had foolishly insisted on me being quiet. I couldn't have remained quiet for anything in the world, as caught up as I was in the moment with him...and seeing something so shocking and arousing...something I had thought about my first night in the bed alone.

_If only Erik were here_, I had mused.

"Now," he sighed, pressing a final kiss on my lips. "We have wasted sufficient time, and you no longer have time to both be ravished, and dress for dinner. But at least you are awake."

He sprung off the bed, avoiding the pillow I hurled at him, laughter in his eyes.

"You're going to regret this," I threatened, throwing another pillow at him. He caught it, and threw it back, catching me right in the face.

His face was comical as the pillow fell away. He looked both horrified and amused.

"I'm sor-"

He didn't get another syllable out as I threw the pillow back at him.

"You'd better leave," I said with a gleam in my eyes. "I have five more pillows."

But the expression on his face stopped me. He truly looked shock to have done something so uncharacteristic as to throw a pillow...and at a _woman._

"I didn't hurt you?"

"With a pillow?" I said, grinning at him. "I should certainly hope not."

"I've never done anything like that before," he said nervously. "I would never hurt you, Laure."

I moved off the bed and hugged him, "I know. You didn't hurt me. Try not to look so dour."

His hands moved over my skin for a moment, as if in apology for hitting me in the face.

"I didn't mean to hit you," he whispered. "I...it was just a reaction. I'm sorry."

"It's fine, Erik. This is _normal_ behavior for a married couple. You should see my parents sometimes," I said with a smile. "They've thrown far worse things than pillows at each other."

"Your father throws things?" he asked, disbelief on his face.

"Not so much anymore...but when I was younger...I believe he threw a loaf of bread at my mother. She was furious. It had just been baked, and landed in her dishwater. It didn't matter that she had thrown it first," I said, laughing as I remembered the screeching that had ensued. "I think it all started over him forgetting their wedding anniversary, and making plans to sail to Italy on business during that time. She has thrown other things at him. Mostly food, and the occasional cookware. I didn't think, however, that I would ever have to worry about you throwing anything."

I smiled as I said it, and poked his ribs a little. He smiled back cautiously, "You aren't hurt?" I shook my head. "You aren't angry?" Again, I shook my head. "I can throw pillows at you?"

I laughed, "Only if you know that I throw them back."

My answer earned me one of those rewarding laughs that so rarely escapes his mouth. He always seemed startled to have made such a sound, and usually when he became aware of his laughter, he clammed up. This time though, his low and deep laughter continued, and I put my arms around him in complete joy as he laughed, grateful that he had done something so strange...so unlike himself...as to throw a pillow. Slowly I could see the ghost disappearing from his life, from his eyes. Soon the man would be all that was left. The man I loved, and he had never allowed himself to see.

Yes, soon the ghost would be diminished. An apparition so small and powerless, that it would be consumed by the power of the man inside, the power I had always known was there, and had seen inside him before.

* * *

Dinner was strained...at least between Erik and Marie. His brooding mood, which had been vacant from our table the last few nights, was back. Marie didn't say much at all, and seemed to be in fear of creating a disaster by saying anything, so chose not to speak instead. Halfway through though, the temptation before me was too great. Erik was continually scowling at his plate, sliding glances at Marie, who did not look back at him, or at anyone else.

I had made a vain attempt to speak with both of them, and had tired of the one word answers I received.

"Erik, do you like your furniture?"

"Yes."

He never looked up from his plate, or elaborated.

"Marie, how was the train ride from Boscherville?"

"Fine."

I was beginning to get irritated...and was again tempted...it was right in front of me. Mocking me. I reached for a dinner roll and it sailed across the table, landing in his lap. His eyes shot to mine, then around the table.

No one was looking at us. Marie stared into her plate. Nicolas and my father were in a discussion about the _Donegal_. My mother had left to retrieve something from the kitchen.

He reached down and took the roll from his lap, and stared at it thoughtfully for a moment. His eyes slid from me, to the roll, then back again. I waited, a challenging smile on my face, daring him to do it, but his lips merely twisted into a smile as his head bent to take a bite out of the roll, then set it on the side of his plate.

"Thank you, Laure," he murmured, swallowing bread, and a laugh. "I had no idea you were such a gracious hostess. Do you think anyone else would care for a roll?"

* * *

This chapter was lighthearted, as I tried to capture the allure of being married...and normality that will eventually help draw Erik out of his shell. Hope you liked it. Also, I started another story called Under the French Sky. There is a more complete summary on my profile page, which I update fairly regularly. 


	38. Half Danish

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I had_ no_ idea what possessed me to throw something at her. I wasn't sure I had ever thrown _anything _in my entire life. Even as a child. But she had looked so devilish, sitting there on the bed, such a defiant look in her eyes when she had thrown it at me...something had told me to lift my arms and throw it back. And the laughter that she had given, well, it had done nothing to ease my dismay. I had thrown something at her...for no apparent reason other than to be absurdly frivolous. I had _frolicked_, for heaven's sake.

I had to curb the urge to smile at my ridiculous thought. Frolicking, I thought scornfully, was for young dandies like de Chagny. And whimsical girls like Christine.

Not for jaded men like me.

Yet, I thought as I looked at Laure, still smiling from her innocent bread lobbing, I would do it again with my wife, any time she desired. Perhaps next time it could lead to something decidedly less...ridiculous.

She blushed as I picked my roll up and ate another bite, her eyes following my every move as if in anticipation of me retaliating. I had no doubt that if I threw something, which I was _not_ going to do, that she would not hesitate to toss something back at me. I curbed another smile, picturing the dining room covered in vegetables and meat.

Clare came back into the room, removing all our plates quickly and replacing them with dessert. I would be glad to have a maid to do these things. I felt uncomfortable with my wife's mother being a servant in my house. Not that she seemed to mind, but she did all these things herself, and Laure apparently did not think to help her. Although she did wash dishes, and help slice vegetables, but for the most part her mother would not allow her in the kitchen to help.

"Here you are, Erik," she murmured, patting my shoulder as she set a piece of cake in front of me.

I glanced at Marie, and offered a tentative smile, which she did not return. She didn't know what to think of me right now. I had neither been an affectionate child, nor someone who smiled much at all. And now I was somewhat affectionate, now that my heart had been freed...and I smiled more often...because I felt that I could.

We finished our dessert in blessed silence. Not even Laure attempted to converse with me as she attacked her cake with her fork. I hid my smile from her when she glared at me, a smudge of chocolate around her mouth.

Subtly I indicated she had missed her mouth, and she hurriedly reached for her napkin, missing the spot entirely.

"Here, Laure," her mother said, leaning over and wiping her mouth.

Clare and I shared a look of amusement, while Laure returned to her cake without saying anything. These people, I thought suddenly, were really very odd.

* * *

Marie joined Laure, Nicolas, and I in the study. I had invited Clare and Vincent, but they had both declined politely, saying they were off to tend to the puppy in the stable, then to bed.

Marie sat down in a chair across from my desk. I hadn't intended on sitting behind it, but I did, feeling a little more in control with the space between us. Laure moved a chair close to mine, and Nicolas sat beside Marie, his eyes avoiding the painting above the fireplace.

"Well," Marie said nervously, "I...I really don't know where to begin. I want to tell you more than just about your father...but I don't want to make you angry. Really, and I don't want to offend you. You have every right to...to hate your mother for what she did to you. _Every _right. But I wanted to tell you how she changed...she changed so much...after you left."

"You may tell me what you wish," I said softly. "I hope you are not offended, though, if I am disinclined to believe you. I can't believe she changed so very much, and certainly not over something as abject as my leaving."

"Oh, but she did," she whispered, her eyes wide. "She regretted it very much, Erik. She cried...I thought she would never stop."

"It was too late," I muttered. "Far too late."

"I know. I'm not saying you should forgive her. I'm still not certain she deserves it. But I think _you_ deserve to know how much she loved you, even if she never said it."

"Guilt," I said impatiently. "She felt guilt, and nothing more."

Her hands twisted in her lap again, her eyes lowering to the floor. I waited for her to contradict me, to tell me I was lying.

"Maybe," she admitted. "I do know that she loved you, though. Madeleine was incapable of anything other than selfishness, for a very long time. She was an only child, then she had your father...but for such a short period of time. She lost her parents, and all she had was you. She was never prepared for such a responsibility."

Her face paled, her mouth tightened, and I could tell she was trying to avoid discussing my face. My horrid face, that had driven my mother to madness.

"What she did to you...letting that...you probably don't remember Sasha when you were just a baby. She let that _dog_ tend to you, the way she should have. I'm sorry, Erik," she whispered, looking up at me. "I should have taken you from her. She didn't deserve you. I was never so angry when she made you look in the mirror...and your face...it frightened you so much. You didn't understand what was in the mirror. She should have been whipped for doing that to you, and on your birthday too."

I glanced at Nicolas, but avoided looking at Laure. I could hear her weeping softly beside me, although she was struggling not to let me see.

"You did the best you could, Marie," I said softly. "I do thank you for what you did. I think she would have left all that glass in my hands, and been content to let me suffer from infection, so that she wouldn't have to touch me."

"She did regret it though...all of it. I don't know what would have happened if you had stayed," she said tightly, meeting my eyes again. "I don't know if it would have made a difference. But, it was like she finally realized what she had done. Madeleine the_ girl_ was gone...and in her place was a very delicate woman...who always thought you would come home. She wanted more than anything to apologize...to tell you how sorry she was. I don't think she expected you to forgive her, but she wanted you to hear the words."

I would not allow the words to tempt me. I fought against them...and won the battle, for the moment. I had not sent her a letter to hear about my mother. She had monopolized enough of my life. This was about my father.

I swallowed the bitterness, the anger, the pain. Her words would not make them go away. Even if they had come from Madeleine herself, I wasn't sure if they would help.

But Madeleine was gone.

I reached into my coat and withdrew the will. Keeping it carefully folded on my desk, I looked back at Marie.

"Tell me about Charles."

She appeared flustered for a moment, over the rapid change in subject.

"Oh, well," she fluttered her hands around a moment. "Charles was very handsome...charming. I only met him a few times, but I could tell your mother was very much in love with him. He was," she paused, her eyes widening as she looked at me...but then her eyes slid to Nicolas. "He looked a lot like Nicolas. Except he had darker hair, and green eyes."

Like mine.

I had my father's eyes.

Somehow that did not surprise me.

And apparently, although she could not say it, I looked somewhat like him as well.

"His family still lives in Rouen. Madeleine sent them a letter after you disappeared. She had kept your birth a secret for a long time...she didn't even invite them to your father's funeral, which upset his family a great deal. They didn't want anything to do with her after that, and she never told them she was pregnant. And since they never came to Boscherville, it remained her little secret."

"How...," I cleared my throat slightly, "how did they react to the news?"

"They were understandably upset. When she told them...," she glanced at me a moment, "...she told them about the mask, and they were all the more furious. They accused her of doing something while she was pregnant with you to cause...it...something that hurt you."

What could have possibly done this? I wondered.

"So they know about me," I said softly. "Were they...did they want to meet me?"

"I believe so," she replied. "She showed me a letter they had written her, demanding that they be contacted when you were found."

_"They?"_ I whispered, looking down at the will.

"I'm not certain who is living, and who is not. I believe Charles' father was still alive when you returned to Boscherville. He would be close to ninety, if he is still alive now. Your father had a sister...a lot younger than he was. Closer to Madeleine in age, I believe. She married, and also has some children. I'm not certain if they were boys or girls," she said softly. "I'm not certain of anyone else, although it was only your grandmother's side of the family that was French."

Swallowing painfully, I opened the will. I stared at the name that was my father's...and was my own...for the first time.

"Halvdan."

I glanced up at Marie. "That's right," she murmured. "Your father was Charles Halvdan."

_Erik_ _Halvdan._

That name seemed foreign...not at all what I had expected.

I wasn't sure what I had thought would be my name...certainly not something that sounded so...Danish. I told Marie so.

"Well, your grandfather was from Denmark," she smiled. I believe on your a Charbonneu on his wife's side. Your mother's maiden name was Langlois."

I sank back into my chair, feeling overwhelmed. Names. I had names. Connections, if I dared to pursue them. And at one point, they had wanted to meet me.

"Erik Halvdan," I heard Laure speak beside me. I turned to look at her, seeing her smiling softly, although her eyes were filled with tears.

"Laure Halvdan," I replied, my throat not wanting to cooperate.

"Will you take a new name?" she whispered. "Are you going to change again?"

I shook my head, "No. No, I don't think so. Too much effort has gone into Sagesse, has it not?"

She smiled, "I will do whatever you wish, Erik Halvdan."

I blinked rapidly, trying to suppress the tears that were threatening inside of me. She leaned out of her chair and embraced me, and I closed my eyes as I entered the safe haven of her arms. I felt like my heart was going to explode...my chest was so tight, that surely there was no more room for joy and emotion inside me.

And yet, my son was not going to let me rest in peace, even for a moment. He moved around the desk and knelt at my side, giving me another of life's precious moments with him...of which I knew were fleeting.

_He hugged me, kissed me...right on my cheek_...and whispered, "I would be honored to be Nicolas Halvdan."


	39. A Door Ajar

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Rated R for Racy!_

Marie and Nicolas left, and I was still holding onto him tight. Or rather, he was holding me, and wouldn't release me. His breath trembled against the top of my head, his hands gripping me in a nearly painful fashion.

"Erik?" I whispered, trying to turn my face up to his, but finding it impossible in his rigid embrace. His arms were relentlessly stiff as he held me, a willing victim in his arms.

"It _hurts_," he whispered roughly. "My God, I didn't know it was going to hurt this much."

"What hurts?" I questioned, struggling to look at him.

"All of it. Knowing my...my...," he stopped and closed his eyes, his jaws clamping tightly together.

"Family?" I offered.

He nodded, his eyes clenched shut. "I didn't know they existed...if I had known...and they wanted to meet me. Everything I did, running away, becoming captured by those gypsies, then meeting...meeting Giovanni," his voice dropped to a low whisper, "every single moment I spent in Persia. I would never have seen or experienced any of it. If I had known..."

I knew he didn't mean to offend me, including Persia in such a general way. If anything, I had been a brief moment of joy in his life there...even if he couldn't remember it as clearly as I could. No wonder he hadn't thought it was real.

Had I understood Marie correctly, when she said that his mother had allowed the dog to _tend _to him? What a perfectly horrible woman! I longed to resurrect her from the grave, and beat some posthumous sense into her incredibly asinine brain. And the mirror...on his birthday...I assumed that would have been his fifth birthday, since it was the only one he ever spoke of.

My heart was torn over that little boy he had been. Defenseless, even against his mother. She had destroyed his faith, betrayed him, broken him with cruel and careless words. She had done far worse to him than anyone else ever had. Maybe even more than the gypsies.

"Will you meet with them?" I asked softly.

"I have to," he said harshly. "I've denied this too long...I have to know..."

But he was afraid. He didn't have to say it. I could see it in his eyes, in his face. He was terrified. More so than our wedding day. Perhaps just as much as our reckless flight to Paris to find Nicolas.

He eventually released me, sitting back in his own chair. I saw the long white paper on the desk and reached for it. Erik studied me as I read the accounting of his father's estate. He had bequeathed everything to his wife, except for some personal items for his father, who was listed as Joren Halvdan, and Charles's sister, Kathyrn.

Erik's name was not on here, but I presumed that since he had not known whether it would be a boy or a girl, he had assumed that Madeleine would leave him everything if she died as well. In the event of Madeleine's death, it was to go to their unborn child. If something else had happened, it would all go to his sister.

"Joren Halvdan," I said quietly.

"I beg your pardon?" Erik said, his head snapping up slightly.

"Your grandfather. You have an aunt Kathyrn as well, but it appears she's married. Her name on here is Kathyrn Careux."

"_Ah,"_ he sighed, his head dropping once more to his chest. He struggled to regain his composure, which so far had not failed him yet tonight. I had thought, many times that it would, but he had kept it. Just barely when Nicolas had kissed him. I thought before the night was out, he would break down. _I _was ready to break down. I couldn't imagine what it was doing to him.

"Do you want to go upstairs?" I asked, laying the will on top of his desk.

"No," he whispered.

I hesitated for a moment, "Do you want to be alone?"

I looked around his study, where apparently he and Nicolas had worked for much of the afternoon. It appeared all of it fit in here...although I was rethinking leaving that painting for him. It was very embarrassing to be seen looking like you'd just had your heels up.

"No," he finally said, reaching out to touch my hand. "I told you, I don't want to be alone again."

"What about this room?" I whispered. "This is your room. For privacy...for solitude."

"I've had enough solitude," he replied, pulling me out of the chair and into his lap. "I've had enough of it for a lifetime."

His answer made me want to weep. I had hoped...I had not wanted him to shut himself in here...and now there was the possibility that he wouldn't.

"Are you going to move the painting?"

"Now why would I want to do something like that?" he murmured, his eyes telling me he really did want to go upstairs. He smiled when he saw my blush, "You aren't going to become _modest_, are you? How terribly disappointing. I thought I had married an adventurous woman."

"You want adventure?" I asked softly, feeling a tremor of desire in my body.

His hands slid from my arms to my leg, pulling me closer, "I want you."

He looked suddenly tortured as he said it, and I knew what he craved, more than physical release. He wanted my touch. He wanted comfort, but was afraid to take it in any other way than in bed.

"Yes, Erik."

I kissed him, and we filled the room with the sounds of our breathing growing harsher, of words and whispers caught in our throats. He pushed me out of his lap and led me to the fireplace, unbuttoning my gown and kissing each inch of flesh as he uncovered it.

"You still need a modiste," he whispered, his hands settling around my stomach.

It was growing, indeed. I could see the slight swell that was becoming more noticeable with each day...and each piece of cake I consumed. The look in his eyes told me he didn't think I was fat. He touched me reverently, his eyes flickering up to meet mine as desire built between us.

"Laure," he breathed against my neck before he kissed me. "I love you, Laure."

His hands settled around my back, and I began touching him as well, unbuttoning his shirt, helping him out of it. I was as familiar with his body as I was my own, and he was like an atlas for me to discover new and exciting places, as well as visit all his favorites.

He loved to be kissed. Erik couldn't get enough of it. When I settled my mouth against his collarbone, and gently scraped my teeth up his neck, all activity on his part ceased. He loved his ears to be touched...and sometimes I kissed the space between his ear and the mask. At first he had been annoyed, but now, he would willingly hold his head still so that I could explore him.

We had only made love one time without the mask. I never tried to remove it while we were making love, fearing that he would recoil from me, and it would cause both of us to be hurt.

I didn't do it now, because I knew how much he needed to be in control, and he never felt in control when he was unmasked. We kissed, each mutually wanting to join together, to become one. His hands cupped my breast, his head bending to capture one in his mouth. I gasped at the tender ache that spread through me.

"Sorry," he whispered. "I thought I was being gentle."

"You were...,"

I gasped as he did it again, and slowly as he took me into his mouth, the ache eased and intense pleasure followed. My neck could not support my head anymore, and it pitched back across my shoulders as I surrendered to him in brilliant defeat. His mouth continued to wreck havoc on my breasts, and his hands tangled in my hair, removing all the braids to let it cascade down my back.

My fists caught in his hair and forced him back to my mouth.

"You are too much," I ground out. "I can't take this."

"You can," he said softly. "And you will."

He finished undressing and pulled me back to him, his mouth meeting mine with almost brutal strength as gentleness finally left him, and the numbness and shock of the evening wore off. Erik became almost frantic, tugging me down onto the rug beside him, not allowing me but a moment to rest as he kissed me from wrist to elbow, from knee to thigh. He stopped and kissed my stomach, something he had done each night this week, as he watched it growing. It brought tears to my eyes every time, that he wanted this as much as I did. That he was eager...and an expectant father.

I was proud to call this man my husband.

He left me no more time to reflect as he nudged my legs apart with his knee, and settled between mine. His eyes were feral...brilliant green...and so triumphant I almost smiled. Amnita was smiling down on us too, and I caught the flicker of raw emotion in his eyes as he finally entered me, and I accepted willingly, tossing my head back and groaning at the sensation of his length buried in me.

"Look at me," he demanded, and I did, just as he began to move.

He kept his piercing eyes on mine, completely unnerving, highly erotic, and I lifted my heels over his back to take him deeper, to move with him easier.

"Tell me," he whispered, something he had been doing since we had made love on the train. I knew I had damaged him, put a chink in his armor somehow, and the knowledge was devastating. I had hurt him very badly.

"I love you, Erik," I groaned against his neck.

He caught my hand above my head, bracing our arms together and lacing our fingers. I couldn't bring myself to look away from his eyes, from that face so utterly consumed by the fire. His teeth bared slightly as he looked down at me, a fierce and raw look of passion in his eyes.

I saw the exact moment he was close to glory, and tightened my legs around him, feeling my own pleasurable wave of spasms begin. My back arched off the floor to prolong the sensation...to keep his slick body against mine as they rolled through me, and I felt his own body shake as he released inside me, his breath hot and wet against my ear, his cry of passion nearly drowning out my own.

He collapsed on top of me moments later, his chest pressing against mine, our stomachs touching, damp from our exertions.

"My God," he muttered.

"Indeed," I whispered back, stroking his hair softly, and down his back.

"Did we just...in here...?"

"I think so," I chuckled, feeling him still inside. The weight of him was pleasant, like something I had never realized I needed, or wanted, but now that I had it every night I wondered how I had ever lived without it.

"We didn't even lock the door."

"Lock it, Erik? I don't even think its shut."

His head snapped up to look, "Bloody hell."

He slid off me quickly and retrieved his pants, tossing my dress across my body.

"Aren't you going to dress?" he asked, hurriedly slipping his legs through his trousers.

"Why?" I smiled, stretching lazily. "We've probably already let everyone know what we were doing."

He pulled his pants over his backside, which I thought looked very nice just the way it had been.

He scowled, "I don't need the entire house hearing me...or you."

I sighed and dressed, looking at the door that was barely open at all. The doors to the workroom were shut. Doubtful in this enormous house anyone had heard anything, unless they had been prowling outside the doors.

Erik gave me a rueful smile as I finished dressing, then helped him into his shirt, buttoning it for him. He touched my cheek for a moment, "You have done wonders for my ego," he said softly.

I smiled, "Well, I'm glad I could be of some use."

He hesitated a moment, then asked gently, "Have you ever wondered why I laughed at you that night?"


	40. Fear

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

Her eyes narrowed, and she tossed her head, "I was willing to forget that. I don't think you want to bring it up."

"Laure-"

"I'm perfectly serious, Erik. You might want to reconsider bringing up that particular incident," she said lightly. "I'm willing to forget it."

I couldn't help but chuckle, which earned me another hard look.

"I wasn't laughing at you," I said softly.

"Oh, yes you were!" she said, her eyes flashing. "Don't lie to me!"

Immediately I was annoyed. "I don't lie. Ever. Especially not to you."

"Then what was it?"

I hesitated, wondering if I could explain it to her satisfaction. Now that I thought about it, I should have probably not pursued that particular line of conversation.

"I...you took me by surprise," I muttered, avoiding her angry eyes. "I was sitting there, feeling miserable, missing you. And suddenly you were there. Apparently though...you only wanted one thing. It struck me funny, that's all. That you would go there...for one thing...that you wanted me, as much as I wanted you. You were so angry," I risked a glance at her, unable to determine what she was thinking. "You were angry...but I couldn't get past the fact that'd you came to my home and took what you wanted. And it was me."

"I wanted more," she whispered. "But I refused to beg you to come to me. I thought you were laughing because of Christine."

Her hands lifted and wrapped around my waist, and her head pressed to my chest.

"Why _did _you go there?"

"I missed you. And I _was _angry. Nicolas told me you were going to talk to Christine...he wouldn't tell me why. I thought...," she paused and took a deep breath, "...I thought you might have wanted her back."

"How could you think such a thing?" I demanded, forcing her to look at me. "I didn't want her...I never wanted her back."

"Well, Nicolas made it sound as if you did. I'm sure he did it on purpose, which worked on me like a charm. I went down there with the explicit purpose of what happened coming true, and it did. But I shouldn't have let Christine's name ever come up. I'm sorry."

I tightened my arms around her, kissing her lips and her lids over worried eyes.

"It's over," I whispered. "There is no more Christine. No more de Chagny. Nothing will tear us apart again, Laure. Nothing."

Not even me, I wanted to say.

And I was more than willing to pursue this family of mine...who had wanted to meet me. It was like a dream I did not wish to wake from. I had connections...with _humans_...other people. Perhaps an older man in my family still existed. A grandfather. Uncles, aunts. The possibilities were limitless. And I had this family as well, even if the other one didn't work out. A son, a wife. Another child. Even Vincent and Clare...and Marie and Nadir, who I would try to embrace more openly as well.

I had family, and for once in my life, I was no longer afraid to accept them.

* * *

I sent Marie off with a letter to Joren Halvdan, or Kathyrn Careux. It was simply addressed to the remaining relatives of Charles Halvdan, and requested the company of any family members who wished to meet with Charles's son. She promised to deliver it to Rouen herself, and I made her promise that she would visit anytime she liked, and that she would at least come back when the baby was born, if not before.

She had smiled, nervous as hell, but had given me an awkward hug.

"I'm happy for you, Erik," she had whispered. "I really am."

By the time she had left, I had been choking back tears, and Laure had hugged her as well. She hadn't liked her at first, but I knew once she understood Marie, she would know that she couldn't hate anyone, not even Madeleine.

Robert and Nicolas continued helping me with the building plans, which were due in two weeks for final submission. As I continued on the library's structure, I continued to change things...trying different approaches and methods to the parking area, as well as the long drive that would wrap around the hill.

Laure finally had her gowns altered, and we sent her parents off as well, but only after her mother had found the proper maid and cook. They both avoided me as much as possible, and Laure had strictly forbidden them from entering the workroom and my study, although I still had to see them when my meals were served. I wasn't sure what they thought of me, but I knew they didn't make a connection to the Phantom. It had been months since the fire...and no one believed in him anyway.

I watched my wife growing with my child, and felt peace and joy that I had not known were possible. She had promised it to me, my wife, the day I had recovered from that terrible fever back in Corsica. She had offered me the freedom...offered me happiness, and a way out of the cage of darkness I had once dwelt in. Time and again she rescued me from my bitter hopelessness, and at last I could say that I truly trusted someone.

I trusted my wife, as I had never trusted anyone else.

There was one subject though, that she continually pushed at, and I found it frustrating that I couldn't push back as much as I wanted to. I felt weak...I couldn't deny her what she wanted. I had promised her I wouldn't reduce myself to merely a man in a mask. But she pushed, and pushed, wanting me to spend more time without it while we were alone.

"I want to see you," she would whisper, and remove it gently.

Always her hands would cover my face, and she would kiss me thoroughly, nothing chaste about it. She was never one to press close mouthed kisses anyway. Her lips and tongue would burn my flesh...the part I wanted to keep hidden, always.

Since Marie had left, she spent more time kissing my bare face. I knew why, and as much joy as it brought me, there was also infinite pain. She wouldn't let me move the bed, and encouraged me to make love to her without the mask.

I nearly could not bear it, but she had ways of making me forget. I would be protesting one moment, and drowning in flames of desire the next.

She told me one night, "I think you should look in the mirror, Erik."

I turned my head sharply, "Why?"

"Do you ever look without the mask?"

"No," I bit out, instantly becoming defensive. I began to feel cold everywhere, remembering that disgusting face...I couldn't remember the last time I had actually looked beneath the mask myself, and willingly studied it.

I woke every morning beneath a mirror, but it was far away, and only showed that my face was incredibly red compared to the other side.

"I think you should look in the mirror," she repeated softly. "And tell yourself the truth. That you are handsome. That you are not a monster. That you are not evil."

"Laure, no," I whispered, horrified at the very idea. What terror was she trying to bring me? I was more frightened of this, than any other thing. _This:_ which was my face. This _thing,_ which kept me from being normal, although the mask did as well.

"You should do it," she insisted quietly. "There is nothing for you to fear."

For the first time, I felt that she lied to me outright.


	41. Gabriel

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

A letter arrived for Erik one week after my parents left. I accepted it from the maid with reservation, looking at the return address with excitement and nervousness.

Rouen.

And the name at the top was Joren Halvdan. Erik's grandfather.

Erik, Nicolas, and Robert were closed up in the work room, finalizing plans for the library. He had asked that he not be disturbed while they completed them, because he had every intention of sending them with Robert for submission by the end of the day.

I went into his study and left it lying on his desk, intending to tell him if he came out on his own. He was apprehensive and excited about meeting his father's family. He had admitted to me that even if they were disappointed in him personally, they would surely care to acknowledge Charles's grandchildren. He had received a serious lecture for saying something so callous about himself, and if the Halvdan's dared to berate Erik for something he had no control over, I would personally help the old man into his grave.

I spent the next two hours in the kitchen, exasperating the cook over requests for a million different kinds of foods when the maid came in to tell me I had visitors.

"Visitors?" I repeated. "Did they give their name?" I asked warily.

"I believe they are Madame Giry, and her daughter, Mademoiselle Giry."

The Giry's? Erik had never gotten around to properly introducing me to the women, although at the time it had seemed to mean a great deal to him.

"Will you see them, Madame Sagesse?"

"Of course," I said, then called to her sharply. "Wait. Where are they now?"

"Outside the door, Madame, as you requested when visitors came by."

I rushed into the hall, and cut through to the sitting room, the maid fast on my heels. I was nervous. I hadn't received anyone in my new home, other than my husband.

"Show them in," I said breathlessly, arranging my skirts around me in what I hopes was something graceful looking. I was beginning to feel like a bloated and beached whale, and already my clothes had tightened more. I was definitely going to need a proper modiste soon, although the maid could sew perfectly fine.

However, there was only so much that a dress could be let out.

Madame Giry came in first, severe and in black, which I thought made her look as if she were in constant mourning. Perhaps she was, I really had no idea. Meg followed, a sullen look on her face as she glanced around the room, obviously expecting Erik.

"Good afternoon, ladies," I said pleasantly. "Won't you sit down?"

"Madame Sagesse," the elder Giry said with slight warmth, "thank you for receiving us unexpectedly. I hope we aren't disturbing you."

"After the events from last month," I said dryly, "I don't think it would be possible for you to disturb us as much as we disturbed you."

"You are looking well," Madame said, her eyes filled with humor as she looked down towards my stomach.

I touched it briefly, smiling the grin my mother said made me look idiotic. "Thank you. Erik is a proud, and expectant father. He didn't get to experience this last time...with Nicolas, but I suspect he will more than make up for it with this one."

"And the next?" she smiled finally as she said it.

I wondered if she had known I was pregnant, or merely thought I was fat.

"Yes, I would think so," I said softly. "And you, Mademoiselle Giry, you are well?"

Her brown eyes moved from my stomach to my face, and she nodded vigorously.

I waited for one of them to give a reason for their visit, although they didn't need one. They, or rather, Madame Giry, was a friend to Erik. He hadn't said much about her, although I suspected that she had brought him a measure of comfort inside the theater.

I hoped this visit was not about Christine. I could already picture the blessed fit I would throw if her name was even mentioned.

"Is Erik in?" Madame asked suddenly.

"He's working. I would interrupt him, but I was given strict instructions not to disturb him. They're trying to finish."

I explained briefly about him working on the library.

"I had no idea he had been serious about architecture," she mused. "I knew he helped build the theater, but assumed he was a mason, or merely a worker, although with the capabilities his mind has mastered, I should have known. He has continually surprised me through the years."

"How did you two meet?" I asked softly. "I understand what his role was...I know about the ghost. I just wondered..."

"He ordered me to meet him in his box one night, leaving a note right on my bed," she huffed. "I was too angry to be scared, the nerve of a man ordering me around. I never believed that nonsense about the ghost! And I told him, too. I went into the box, and told him what I thought of him and his games. He immediately came out from behind a false column, and apologized. I believe his exact words were, _'Madame, I am sincerely sorry for not believing you would be as easy to dupe as the rest of the theater. But you will kindly do as I ask, otherwise I will be forced to order the managers to fire you. You may not believe in me, but I assure you, they do."_

I laughed. I could picture Erik making some ridiculous demand like that. "What did you do?"

"She laughed at me," Erik said from the doorway. He smiled at Madame Giry. "She laughed, and told me she had better things to do than cater to the whims of a madman. And then told me if I paid her, she would be glad to do it."

"Mother!"

We all turned to look at Meg, who was flushed with anger. I raised my brow at her, Erik did the same, and Madame frowned at her.

"I did what I had to do," she said firmly. "And I did not hear you complain when he had you advanced to the front of the row, or new ballet slippers, or that ridiculously expensive dress he bought you at Christmas."

"Yes, and I know exactly why he bought it!" Meg said furiously, rising from her chair to point an accusing finger at him. "I never would have slept with you...you _swine!_ You can't buy us all. You couldn't buy me the way you bought my mother!"

"Meg!" her mother said sharply. "Sit down, and shut your mouth. You will not speak to him this way."

"It's fine," Erik said softly. "I have realized the inappropriateness of my gifts to her. I, however," he said in a low and dangerous voice, "was not trying to purchase you, Little Giry. I was not attempting to bribe you, in any way."

He approached her, and I could see her eyes widening in fear as he did, but to her credit she did not move. She had more of her mother in her than I had thought.

"You sent letters to me," she spat. "I burned every last one! You miserable wretch!"

I held my breath, waiting to see Erik's response. If he had sent her even one letter, I would scratch both their eyes out.

Erik's eyes narrowed. He frowned. His weight shifted slightly as he stared at his feet for a moment.

"You think I sent you letters?"

"Yes," she hissed.

He looked up at her, then at me and Madame Giry.

"I never sent you a letter, Meg. If you are referring to those lovesick ramblings that were slipped beneath your door almost daily...you are accusing the wrong man. I have to admit though," he chuckled, "I can see why you don't like me, if you think I wrote such rubbish. But I didn't write them. I believe the boy's name was Gabriel."


	42. Home Invasion

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

Meg's eyes widened, and she drew in a sharp breath. _"Gabriel?"_

I nodded, "He was quite taken with you, Little Meg. He would have been your slave, had you commanded him, although his pathetic attempts at poetry were inexcusable. I find it insulting you thought _I _wrote such nonsense. I don't believe I've ever described a woman as copiously endowed," I smirked, "or made any other reference to that part of her anatomy."

"Erik!" Laure nearly bellowed behind me.

I turned, innocently spreading my hands, "I didn't write it, dear wife. I was merely repeating what Gabriel wrote."

"You read them?" Meg shrieked at me. "How dare you?"

I frowned, giving her a baleful look. "First you accuse me of writing them, and now you berate me for reading them? I was a nosy ghost," I said with a smile, and a careless shrug. "I had to make sure there were not other demands being made on you and your mother, from someone claiming to be me."

She scowled, "I should have slapped you while I had the chance."

"I wouldn't have recommended that action," I said softly, leaning close to her. "I never harmed you, Little Meg, but I will never be struck in the face again by a woman."

She took a step back, and I felt only slightly guilty for making her fear me. If she had slapped me as my mother had, I probably would have strangled her. It was a good thing then, for her, that she never did.

"Despite what you thought of me, I was always fond of you and your mother," I said gruffly, offering her an olive branch. "You are an excellent dancer, and you have an irreplaceable teacher. My sincerest hope is that you do well at the Comique. If it does not offend you, since you now know my intentions are honest, I will again offer you and your mother the opportunity to continue to live in comfort. I have provided for you all these years, and it has given me peace to know that I made a difference in your lives."

Her eyes moved from the floor to mine, and she stared at me thoughtfully for a moment.

"I...I don't know what to say, monsieur."

"Say yes. It is not only you that I have provided for, but your mother as well. It has never been a hardship on me," I gestured to the house, "as you can obviously tell."

To my surprise, I felt Laure's arm slip around my waist. "He means it," she said softly. "He's very generous with his money...but his heart, he does not give so lightly. I believe you both have a place in there somewhere, mademoiselle."

Still, Meg hesitated. I realized that the confident face she put on was merely a front. She had never been like this in the theater. Meg had been a frightened little girl, especially the night I had discovered her in her mother's room. She had bitten me like a wild animal...but I had never considered how terrified she really was of me.

"I'm not a monster," I said quietly. "I wasn't trying to hurt you in your mother's room that night. You merely surprised me, and I did the only thing I could think to keep you quiet."

Laure drew in a sharp breath, "And what was that?"

Amused at her possessiveness I slid her a glance, "I covered her mouth. With my _hand_. And she bit the hell out of me as a reward," I said, giving Meg a stern look. "I couldn't hold a pen for nearly two weeks because of this little she-devil. Don't think I didn't consider sending her to the back of the row for it, either."

If I hadn't offered a tentative smile, perhaps Meg never would have offered me a one in return. But I did, and she smiled back, suddenly not looking frightened of me at all.

"I hope you can forgive me, Little Meg," I said, taking her hand in mine. "I truly never meant to cause you harm. Or your mother...or...anyone else. Perhaps we can let the past remain just there, where it belongs?"

"Yes, monsieur...Erik," she said, looking suddenly shy. "Thank you...thank you for everything."

* * *

After Madame Giry and Meg left, with the promise to visit as often as they pleased, Laure turned and gave me a soul shocking kiss. When I was finally able to draw my head away, I was gasping for air.

"This room doesn't have doors," I murmured.

"You have far too many women in your life," she complained, her hands running through my hair. "I demand that unless this is a girl, you are not to allow any other women into your life. Other than family."

"No more girls," I promised, placing my hand across her stomach, "not even this one."

"You'll break Nicolas's heart," Laure whispered, her eyes sparkling with mirth. She linked her arm through mine and tugged me towards my study. "But I have something in here, that will no doubt shock yours."

Leading me to my desk, she pushed an envelope towards me.

"It arrived this morning."

I stared first at her, then the envelope. I could read quite clearly the name in the top left corner, and the address that betrayed where it had come from...and who. With nervous, twitching fingers I reached for it.

Addressed to Erik, it briefly stated that the family would be honored to accept the invitation to visit Charles's son, and they would be arriving within three days. I stared at the page for a moment, and suddenly my hand was empty.

"Well, what did it say?" Laure demanded, reading it herself. Her mouth fell open. "You invited them here?"

I shook my head...then paused. What had the letter said that Marie had taken?

_I request the company of the remaining relatives of Charles Halvdan._

I had _invited _them? I hadn't meant it as such. Certainly not for them to travel to Paris. By my figures, Joren Halvdan should have been close to ninety, if he was a day. It wouldn't be healthy for such an old man to travel so far.

"How many are there?" she asked, then frowned. "It doesn't say. Erik! We probably don't have enough furniture for everyone! The bedrooms aren't all finished...we don't have room for all these people."

"_All these people?"_ I repeated fearfully. "My God, how many of them do you think there are?"

She stared at me, "I don't know."

I pictured them marching from Rouen, a ninety year old man leading the way for an invasion on my home. They would descend on us like ants...like mice...I was beginning to fear I would need the rat catcher.

"We have to go shopping."

Words she had repeated not so long ago. I immediately scowled.

"And it will not be a race this time," she said firmly. "This time I will pick some things out."

An army was invading me, and I was going shopping again.

Suddenly, I felt as if my day could not get worse.


	43. The Secret Pearl

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

"Let's go see Nadir," I said suddenly.

Erik wiped perspiration from his lip, and turned his face before he removed the mask and wiped both sides of his face.

"Why? We just bought a mountain of furniture. Nicolas and I just moved it all in...and you want to go visiting?"

"He hasn't been by since he moved in," I replied, merely to aggravate him.

I was finding that no matter what I asked...he would do it, within reason. To my surprise, he was more than willing to comply with the demands of a moody and very pregnant woman. My usual sweet nature was subdued in the shadow of this increasingly large woman that was becoming more mercurial with each cookie she ate.

Instead of arguing with this anomaly, Erik gave in to whatever demands she made.

"He comes to the stable," he said irritably, but I knew he would go with me.

I was restless suddenly. He hadn't allowed me to help move anything, although I had been a more than adequate supervisor.

"Please?"

He sighed, and replaced his mask, turning to look at me. "Will you at least allow me five minutes to rest? I'm exhausted, and every muscle in my back aches from lifting."

Poor man.

I pushed him onto the bed he had just assembled, and sat behind him. He lifted his head for a kiss, but instead I rubbed his shoulders. Immediately he dropped his head and groaned, and I felt guilty for asking him to do so much. My moods shouldn't affect him, or Nicolas for that matter. The son had been more intelligent than the father for once. He had left as soon as the last bed was in place, knowing I could very well demand them to move it again.

"Tired?" I murmured against his ear, squeezing and rubbing his neck, then his back.

"Exhausted," he whispered. "I finished the design for the library today and had Robert send it off. I reconciled with a girl who thought I was a deranged, perverted old man, and managed to buy and install furniture for seven bedrooms."

"Take your shirt off."

He chuckled, looking at me over his shoulder, "I think I may be too tired for _that _as well."

I pressed a kiss to his ear, "Fortunately for you, _that _was not on my mind."

He unbuttoned his shirt for me and slipped it off, slightly damp from him moving things around. The beds still needed linens, and I had sent the maid out for those, requesting that they be fashionable and elegant, and I didn't care what color.

For an artist, I was surprisingly not eager to design a home.

As my hands slid over his bare skin he inhaled sharply. "I thought _that_ was the last thing on your mind," he muttered.

"It is," I said dryly. "I'm only doing what I did that day you moved the guns."

He grunted, and tipped his head back, a flicker of fire in his eyes, "Yes...and I don't think it was the last thing on your mind then, was it?"

I blushed. "No. Actually more like the first."

I ran my fingers through his damp hair, the sensation on the tips of my fingers sending pleasure through my body. Rubbing his aching shoulders was becoming a distant thought in my mind as I did it again.

His eyes closed when I touched the mask, and I debated on removing it. I had done it nearly every night since Marie left. He didn't deserve to have to hide behind it forever. When I had found out what his mother had done...that _she_ had been the one to first cover his face...I wanted to remove the last influence she had over him.

Even if he chose to wear it in public...and I truly did not blame him for that...I wanted him to feel comfortable around his family with it. I wasn't even sure if Nicolas had seen him or not without the mask.

I didn't remove it, merely touched the leather and traced the skin around the edge.

"You...you aren't going to take it?" he whispered.

My heart clinched inside. He still did not trust me where the mask was concerned. He would submit himself to whatever I asked of him...but he did not do it willingly. I felt devastated, as if I was continuing to fail. Fail him, and myself.

"Oh, Erik."

Didn't he understand that love transcended all? Why hadn't anyone ever told him? I was struggling to help him become whole, and he continued to resist me by being resigned to me removing his mask.

"Do you think I do it to humiliate you?" I asked softly. "Do you think I...I derive pleasure from seeing you without it? I do," I whispered, watching his eyes close, and feeling angry that he misconstrued my words. How could he think I would be so petty? "I love your face, and I want to see _you_...not the mask."

"Laure, please."

His head lowered to his chest, and I knew that even if my actions did not hurt him, my words had.

"Your face should have never been hidden," I said quietly, touching his shoulder. "You are not evil, and there is nothing wrong with you."

"Stop...please."

Quietly spoken words, and said without a tremor of emotion in them. Sometimes I feared I would lose him all over again, to himself. What would happen if I continued to pluck at this string? Would it unravel him, and reveal the proud, confident man I wanted to find...or would there be nothing beneath? Simply a man in a mask, who would never be able to show the world his face?

If not the world, at least his family.

I could not continue to destroy him, if that was what I was doing. I still wasn't sure. Would he hate me for exposing him, or would he love me more for trying to help? If only I knew...but he remained mute on why he couldn't let go.

I knew the answer was deeper than the surface of his skin, and hidden somewhere in the mind of a five year old child who had smashed a mirror to slay the monster that had peered at him from the looking glass. He still found that monster inside the mirror. And he avoided it, every single day.

"We'll go see Nadir tomorrow," I said, and began rubbing his shoulders again. "We'll have to invite him to meet your family when the arrive."

I said the wrong thing. Mentioning his family agitated him, and he stood and tugged his shirt on.

"I'm going to work with the gray," he muttered, avoiding my eyes as he pressed a kiss to my forehead and walked out. I sighed and lay back against the unmade bed, wondering if I would ever penetrate that thick skull of his.

Sometimes it felt like nothing I said he took to heart...and some things seemed to stay with him forever. He was a complex man, this husband of mine. I had known it when I married him, and only hoped I could continue to peel back the layers and years of neglect and abuse he had been weighed down with.

I knew beneath everything, my waiting pearl was there, in need of a good shining.


	44. No Longer a Ghost

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

* * *

I don't normally do this...but I was sad after I wrote this chapter. I love this character, and my heart is breaking for him. Hope you all enjoy it.

* * *

_Erik_

I went to the stable, but did not take the gray from his stall. It was freezing outside, nearly December, and I had no intentions of making the horse sick just so I could vent my frustration. I felt cold inside as well, and numb, and disappointed. I wanted to give Laure everything...but this...this was torture. She removed my mask, and expected me to look in a mirror.

I had done that once, long ago. After I first seen Christine, I would stare at myself in the mirror, merely to remind me of what I could not have...and why. I would stare in disgust at my flesh, and call myself every name I could think of to dissuade me from pursuing her. And it had worked for awhile. My confidence would immediately plummet once I removed the mask, and lifted my eyes to the mirror. That in itself was a battle, one I had often lost. Sometimes I sat for hours before I ever brought my eyes to my face.

And if breaking a mirror earned you seven years of bad luck, then I would never have good luck again before I died.

Pensively I removed the mask and studied it. If only my flesh were the mask, and the white leather was what lay beneath. As an inanimate object, it was not without beauty. I had chosen it for that specific purpose. I had prowled through dozens of shops in Europe, always looking for something I could wear permanently...something that would allow me to show half of my face, which for some reason I had decided to do after I left Persia.

The first time I had worn the half-shell in public people had really paid me no mind. When I was in profile.

The moment I turned, they would avert their eyes.

But for a brief moment, I could see into them. It was something to a man...or a boy, really, who had never had the luxury of looking a man eye to eye, without them seeing first your face, or first your mask. For one split second, I could look into another man...or a woman's eyes, and they would see nothing wrong. They would assume I was normal...perhaps a businessman, or the way I dressed, even a nobleman. I made up for my lack of beauty by dressing as tastefully as possible. And people noticed me on the streets. They would look at me, seeing the side of a man who was perpetually frowning, but not altogether hideous. They would see me as somber, and probably serious, or sad. Then I would turn to face them. Then automatically their eyes would shift focus to the mask, and I would see a blank look enter their eyes as they turned away. The mask itself identified that there was something wrong with me.

A split second was all I ever earned.

Perhaps if I wore nothing, they would scream, and run, and bring the mob with pitchforks and all. It was what I had expected all my life anyway, and why I never stayed in one place for long. Once I had left Boscherville I had been doomed to roam and travel mostly by night, always by either foot or horse. The brief time I spent in Persia did not count. I would not have stayed willingly, if my services had not been wanted.

"Father?"

I looked up to see Nicolas in the doorway, and cursed softly. It was the second time he had caught me staring at the mask, instead of wearing it.

"What is it, son?" I whispered, both wary and reluctant to look away from him, in case I missed a change in expression on his face. I would not be able to tolerate myself if he lowered his eyes.

He didn't. "Is something wrong? Why are you out here by yourself, in the cold?"

He stepped through the door of the barn and knelt beside me. His breath rolled through the chilly air, meeting mine in great puffs of white steam.

"I'm in a mood, Nicolas. Pay me no mind," I said quietly.

Nicolas took the mask from my hands, and studied it. It was strange to see it in his hands, and I fervently hoped he would not place it against his face. I didn't think I could bear to see his perfect flesh when it would slip away...the face that I should have had. His face...and yet...my face.

If only it would look like his when I removed it.

His hands tightened around it briefly, relaxed, then clenched even tighter.

"I would like to take this," he said softly, "and crush it between my hands. I want to rip it apart," he looked up, and very directly at me, swallowing hard, "I want to rip it apart, or burn it, or contrive some other way to rid you of this...this _thing_."

He raised a steady hand to my cheek, and I felt his words and actions deal a swift and mortal blow to my crippled soul. He had the spirit of his mother, and the ability to turn my thoughts into brain pudding, and my tongue into a soft side of asparagus.

"Why?" I managed to say, closing my eyes when his hand moved from my face to my shoulder. He leaned in, a very direct young man, my son was, and squeezed tightly.

"So that you may live as a man, and no longer a ghost."

"Nicolas," I whispered, but could say no more.

"I will be proud of you, no matter what you look like," he said gently. "But this...this is what _she_ did to you, Father. Your mother gave you_ this_, and nothing else but life. There is still one gift you can return."

He handed me back my mask and left me alone. Alone with my confused and troubling thoughts.

Why were they both so intent on exposing me...exposing my flesh...exploiting my weakness? I could not fathom a reason for them to want to look.

I did not want to look. I had never wanted to, and never would.

I wondered how long it had been since I had. Perhaps five years, possibly three or four. That was a long time to go without seeing yourself...if you were normal.

I was not normal, and sat in the cold again...alone.

Alone with an urgency to rid myself of the mask, and a terror that if I did not put such nonsense behind me, that I would bury it into the floor of the stable with my heel.

I fled to the house, searching for Laure, but she had locked herself in her studio. I did not disturb her, and went to our room, glaring both at the mirror above our bed, and the one at her vanity. I turned it down each morning when I woke up, not even willing to look at myself with the mask on. It was still turned down, and I approached it cautiously, my head ducking low to catch a glimpse of my chin and mouth, and a portion of the mask.

I stepped back hastily, and cursed myself for being a weak fool. I lowered my head again, and bent my knees slightly, and looked at myself from the nose down, still wearing the mask. I reached out and pushed the mirror up slowly, staring at the vanity as my face entered the oblong frame.

My wife had been sitting here on our wedding night. Beautiful, seductive, wearing red...smelling so sweet. So pure. She sat here every morning and fixed her hair. I touched her brush, and several stray pins.

Intrigued, I sat down and lifted a bottle of perfume, inhaling the fragrance I had detected between her breasts on occasion. My eyes avoided the mirror as I looked at her things. Subtly, so quickly I hoped I would not notice, I removed the mask, still looking at the bottle of perfume.

And when at last I had touched every stray object on her vanity, and smelled ever fragrance she used to seduce and persuade me, I slowly raised my eyes to my chin, my nose, and finally...farther up.


	45. Macabre Dance

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

I watched his macabre mating dance with my mirror in horror.

What had I done to him? He was shaking in terror, struggling not to look, touching my brush, my pins...looking everywhere but at himself.

I didn't even think he noticed the tears that slipped down his cheeks.

_What had I done?_

Erik didn't even know I had followed him into the room. He never looked at me, and I had nearly asked what he was doing when his legs had bent, and he'd kept his torso straight...then I realized he was looking at himself in my down-turned mirror.

I nearly shouted for him to stop...but continued to watch as he struggled with himself, as he removed his mask, and still did not look...until at last he did.

The utter defeat and disappointment in his eyes nearly killed me. I wondered if he had expected for it to be less terrifying for him now, than it had as a child.

His chin quivered, and he immediately looked away and bared his teeth, tilting the mirror so he didn't have to look again.

"Disgusting," he muttered, his fists clenching on his lap. "Miserable. I hate you. _I hate you_."

"_Stop."_

Erik lowered his head at my command, and fumbled for the mask. I reached him instantly and placed my hand over his.

"Is this what you wanted?" he whispered so softly I barely heard him. "Does it please you?"

"No," I swallowed the lump in my throat, barely able to breath, let alone speak. "No, I didn't want you to do this to yourself...not like this."

Not like your mother, I wanted to say.

"There is no other way," he growled, rolling my hand off his shoulder when I touched him. "It does not get better, Laure. It will _never_ get better. Did you expect me to find something else underneath? Did you expect me to find the strength you have, to ignore what I look like?"

"I don't ignore you," I whispered, putting my arm back around his stiff shoulders. "I have never ignored what you look like."

"Indifference?" he snorted. "You are indifferent to me, then? Well, I cannot feel such an emotion. You wanted to pull at this wound," he said angrily, "well now it is open, raw, and bleeding! You wanted this, and now you will see what I see! You will see _him_ inside, Laure, _he _is there, and you will see him!"

Erik pushed the mirror back and looked into it, the left side of his face losing the remaining color as he stared at himself. His eyes were like deadened pools, his throat catching a sob as he looked in despair and pain.

I wondered if he realized he had spoken as if there were someone else in the mirror. There was someone else inside when he looked, and I knew he had never dared to associate that beast, that monster that had frightened him as a child...as himself. Erik knew it was his face...but the face was a foreign thing to him. Something that remained hidden beneath the mask, and was never present unless he saw it in his own reflection.

Acting on some instinct I was compelled to answer, I kissed the right side of Erik's face as he began glaring at himself. I brushed a kiss past his temple, and saw his mouth part slightly. I touched his brow, and across his eye lid, and pressed kisses there as well, touching his face, and he moved closer to the mirror as I swept my tongue across the edge of his jawline, and ran my fingers through his hair.

A single tear slipped down his cheek, and I kissed it away as well, and caught the next one with my thumb, and kissed his face again, and kept kissing him until he was well and truly looking at himself. Until I knew he was seeing a glimmering of the man beneath that I loved, until I knew he was at last allowing his heart to open up...to himself.

"Say it, Erik," I whispered against his ear, switching tactics.

From comfort to seduction. Erik's ears were a weak spot, and I felt a surge of triumph as his breath left his body with such force that I thought he might groan.

I repeated my command, kissing his neck and ear, then back to his cheek, holding his head steady with my hands. I would not ask again. If he could not say it, then I would not continue to follow this line of torture. I would not ask him to look in a mirror again...but I was hoping I would not have to.

Erik's eyes slid closed a moment, and I felt his throat tighten as he swallowed, "I-I'm not evil." He opened his eyes then, and repeated it, more tears falling as he said it.

The tears from my eyes were moistening his skin, and I did not allow myself even a moment to recover as I kissed his face again.

"I...I'm not a m-monster," he whispered, and his lips began to tremble. His hands flew to the edge of the vanity and he gripped it tightly, his head bowing to his chest as he began to cry.

"You are not a monster," I said softly, gripping his hand. "You are a wonderful man, a caring father, and the perfect husband. A million times a day you prove it to me, to Nicolas...you only have to let yourself see the truth, Erik. Don't allow it to be obscure for the rest of your life."

Erik looked up and met my eyes, and I rested my cheek against his, smiling at him in the mirror. My eyes filled with more tears as we looked at each other, and I felt the seed of hope plant firmly in my heart.

"I love you," I said gently. "I love you. I think you are handsome, and strong, and fearless."

"No," he whispered, "I'm not fearless, Laure. There-"

I placed my finger across his lips, and turned his head to kiss me on the mouth. "You have faced every one, Erik, and you have survived. There is nothing for you to fear anymore, especially nothing about yourself. There is nothing inadequate, or unpolished about you. Not your heart, not your soul. Not even your face. Do you not feel more complete now, right this moment, than you have ever felt in your life?"

He closed his eyes again, "I...I always felt like that, in your arms," he whispered.

His romantic statement earned him another kiss. "Tell me I'm wrong," I prodded, "tell me I have made some mistake about you. I dare you."

"I can't," he said softly, opening his eyes to look at me. He turned his face partially away, and met his own eyes in the mirror. "I cannot deny anything, anymore."


	46. Trust and Courtesans

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

We held each other as the tumultuous emotions threatened to overtake us once again. I had done it. I had looked at myself, and said what she had wanted me to say...the words that had terrified me...and I had done it. I had not realized that I still was imprisoned, and that I had held the key.

Her head tucked against the left side of my face, and I held her tightly, pulling her onto the bench with me. The reflection in the mirror was a welcome one.

I had seen the beast, the monster, who was me.

And he had received his first kiss. Or rather, I had seen him kissed, with my own eyes, for the first time.

I had witnessed the kiss in the mirror, and watched with unblinking and tear filled eyes as he received his second, third, and thirtieth.

Despite all the time we had spent together, this thing had remained hidden...I had buried it myself beneath the mask, hoping she would never discover it. Or perhaps I had been hoping I never would. And all the times I had looked at myself in the mirror, which could probably be counted with both of my hands, there had never been anyone inside of it but me and the monster. The devil and I, bound together inside the looking glass.

Laure's witnessed kiss had lifted the veil of denial from my eyes, and made me see that even in ugliness there is beauty. Even something as pitiful as a beast could be loved...wanted...desired.

And strangely, I could no longer think of myself as that anymore.

I had just denied it to myself, had I not?

_I am not a monster._

_I am not evil._

The last words, I wasn't sure I had the courage to say. I looked in the mirror for a moment and my mind shied away from them. I closed my eyes and buried my face in her hair, stroking her back, and reveling in the soft stomach that pressed against mine. Thinking of our future child, I looked back into the mirror, and forced myself to think the words. To say them in my mind, even if I was not yet brave enough to say them aloud.

_I am handsome._

I stared at the combination of normal and...the other side, realizing that at least part of me was not hideous. I would never call the right side beautiful. It would never be looked at by me, or anyone else I suspected, and not seen as strange. But the left side really wasn't all that bad. If I had ever cared to be conceited, some might call me handsome.

Certainly something had been passed along to Nicolas, and certainly there was ample proof that females found him attractive. Even in my life, women had been drawn to me. Before Persia, there had been some that would look at me longer than others. Perhaps it hadn't been horror in their eyes. Perhaps it had been fascination...if I dared to be conceited.

"Thank you," I whispered against Laure's hair.

"For what?"

I drew away from her so I could look into her eyes, "For being you. For loving me. For this," I whispered, meeting her eyes in the mirror for a moment.

She kissed my cheek again, "You deserve it, and I wanted this for you. I was frightened when I came in here. I thought I had destroyed you," she said softly, her eyes closing. "I thought I had forced you into something you weren't ready for."

"I wasn't ready," I sighed. "I never would have been ready. But some things must be forced, or they will never be done."

"You aren't angry with me are you?" she whispered. "Please tell me I haven't destroyed your faith in me. I...I wasn't doing this to hurt you, Erik. I did it because I thought you needed it."

"I did," I said softly, kissing her again. "I needed it, and I could never be angry with you for any reason. I trust you, Laure. You, and Nicolas. I trust both of you."

She smiled and settled back into my arms, "And we trust you, Erik. We always will."

* * *

After dinner I persuaded her to go to Nadir's with me. She protested, although I suspected she did it because she thought I was tired, not because she didn't want to go.

But I wasn't tired. I felt alive. I felt like I had all the energy in the world. And I had sat at my table tonight with my family, without the mask.

The maid probably hadn't been expecting it, but she was a stout old woman that had probably seen a lot of unusual things for the wealthy people she worked for. Or Laure and Clare had cornered her, and warned her what would happen if she batted an eye at me.

I suspected it was that latter.

Tonight I was going to visit Nadir, also without the mask. Not that he hadn't seen me without it, although Darius might take a second look. It was a test, for myself. Not so much anyone else. I already knew what to expect. But I wanted to see if _I _could endure without it. It had been taken from me so many times, I had gradually become unresponsive to feeling anything at all, save anger. But I never let the anger show...at least not until Christine removed it. Now I wanted to see if I could at least walk around my own estate without _feeling_ the need to hide. My own sanctuary ought to be a place that did not necessitate the use of the mask.

I shouldn't have to hide from my family anymore. Not when they so obviously wanted me to be free. I wasn't sure what Clare and Vincent's return would bring. This was, of course, only a test. But as we walked to Nadir's, and the sun began to sink across the line of trees that made up the vast forest beyond our home, I felt at peace. The sun was on my bare skin, something it had not been since I left Persia. I felt peace, and savored every blessed moment of her company.

"Thomas is doing excellent work with the estate," she commented, her hand trailing out to catch a leaf from a hedgerow. "He doesn't seem to have any problems, even as old as he is."

"He's more than half blind," I sighed, "I should not expect him to do the work of a younger man. He'll soon need replacing."

"Erik," she said, giving me a reproachful look.

"I didn't say I was going to cast him into the street," I said swiftly. "Merely that he will need replacing. I've already told him the job is here as long as he wants it. Provided he can remember that he does in fact, have a job. In which case he is more than happy to wander around the estate, provided that he doesn't walk right into the lake, of course."

"You're ever the optimist, aren't you?" she said dryly.

"Leibniz would have been shocked."

She chuckled and slipped her arm through mine, walking quietly with me the rest of the way to the dower house. He had it lit up from what looked like every room inside, and when we knocked on the door, Darius visibly blanched.

"Erik," he greeted me stiffly. "Madame Sagesse. May I ask the reason for your unannounced visit?"

"Is Nadir in?"

I already knew he was. The horse he had purchased was attached to my carriage outside, which I had told him he could use when he pleased.

"He is."

But Darius made no effort to move out of our way, nor did he invite us in. I immediately suspected something, but before I could say anything, Laure sailed past him and into the foyer.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, looking up at the grand staircase. "Oh, Erik, I knew this would be perfect for him."

"Laure-"

"He's going to be happy here, Erik," she sighed, and spun to face the parlor. I saw her profile as her eyes widened. "Oh."

"Good evening," I heard Nadir say from inside the room.

"Sorry, Darius," I whispered and stepped past his reddening face. I slid my mask out of my coat and placed it on before I moved to my wife's side. So much for a free evening.

Nadir was sitting inside his parlor, his mouth tight and eyes full of embarrassment. At his side sat a lovely dark haired woman, who if I was not mistaken was his mistress.

"Good evening, Nadir," I said, wondering if I was ever going to be forgiven for this. He had multiple ways of inflicting torture on me, without being too obvious. At least I had some retribution for getting bitten almost daily by a cantankerous stallion. "Who is your lovely friend?"

"Madame Charette," Nadir said glumly, "this is Monsieur and Madame Sagesse."

Eyes sparkling, and not in the least embarrassed to be caught visiting her paramour, she smiled warmly and said in a practiced, seductive voice, "A pleasure to meet you."

I was only glad that Nicolas had decided not to join us. Laure was mortified as I pushed her into the room. There was no sense in being rude, was there? I sat across from them, avoiding Nadir's eyes to keep from laughing out loud. I knew he had a mistress. It was not something he kept secret from me, because he often complained about her demands on his wallet, and his time. He thought European women were horrid creatures, whose lust and affection were only returned when they had a new trinket or gadget to play with.

For the most part he was right, but what did he expect when he solicited the services of a courtesan? If I was not mistaken Madame Charette had stayed with him longer than most. He had discussed her last year sometime, annoying me with his description of her...ample...figure.

Meg's admirer would have written that she was _copiously endowed._

My wife's hand slid around my back, and she pinched me viciously. I realized I had been staring not at Madame's eyes...but rather...her bosom.

I cleared my throat, "So, Nadir. What have you been up to?"

Nadir's eyes widened, Laure raised a hand to her mouth to cover a gasp, and I flushed, realizing I had said something with dual meaning.

Madame Charette laughed, "You _are_ a little devil, aren't you? Nadir's told me about you."

"I've been accused of it, Madame, and you shouldn't believe half of what you hear," I said, not feeling offended at all. She was obviously a very skilled, professional woman. She even looked as if she would devour _me._

"Oh, I suspect Monsieur Khan knows you quite well," she said, leaning forward to give me a cheshire smile. "I've heard you're quite the music man."

Startled, I looked at Nadir, wondering exactly how much he told her while he had her on her back. He looked at me steadily, and I knew he had not betrayed all my secrets.

"When I'm not working, Madame."

Laure's hand was sliding back around my side. If I didn't find some excuse to leave, she was going to leave a larger bruise than that horse.

"We have interrupted your evening," I said, standing abruptly. "We wanted to come by and welcome you to the house anytime Nadir," I paused then added, "if you would visit us, we wouldn't intrude here more than necessary. A pleasure to meet you, Madame."

She inclined her head to both of us. Laure did not say anything.

"I'll come see you tomorrow," he said quickly, his eyes grateful as he nearly shoved us out the door.

We stood at the edge of his yard for all of five minutes before we both began laughing.


	47. Blackmail

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

The maid interrupted us the next morning, knocking discreetly on the door then entering without waiting for a reply. Her eyes widened as she caught us sitting on the couch together. I was sitting in his lap, his hand wrapped possessively around my stomach.

We weren't making love...or even _seriously_ considering it. Erik been singing softly in my ear for several moments, and singing to my swollen stomach at times, a love song that had been written more than a century ago. I didn't understand the words...they were in Danish, which he had been brushing up on the last few days, but the sound of his voice...it was indescribably beautiful.

"May we help you?" Erik asked lazily, raising his head to look at her.

She stared in shock for a moment then began stammering. "Th-there's someone here to see you, Monsieur Sagesse. He is q-quite insistent, and will not leave until he's spoken with you."

I felt his hand tighten on my hip, and he glanced at me for a moment.

"Who is it?" he demanded, nervousness suddenly entering his eyes.

"He will not give his name, monsieur," she whispered. "He says you will probably refuse to see him, but he will not leave until you agree."

"What does he look like?" I asked calmly, giving Erik a reassuring smile. "Do you think it is the guests we are expecting?"

"No Madame, although he is an older gentleman. He...he did say it was pertaining to the...the work you are doing, Monsieur Sagesse."

I managed to get out of his lap before he dropped me to the floor. He steadied me while glaring at the maid.

"Where is Robert?" he asked sharply. "Did he not tell them I was to remain anonymous?"

"I-I don't know, monsieur," she said, looking at the floor.

"I'll find out who he is," I said softly to her, "you are excused and may return to the kitchen."

She turned and left quickly, grateful she was not to be punished for the disobedience of an apprentice.

"I'll be standing behind the door," he muttered. "If I say he can come in, then you may let him."

The gentleman outside looked at me in surprise, taking in my slightly rounded stomach, and the formal smile I managed to portray.

"May I help you?" I asked politely.

"Yes, as I told the other one, I'm here to see Monsieur Sagesse. I believe that is his name now."

"I'm his wife, Laure. And what is your name?" I asked patiently. "You aren't coming through these doors unless I have it, and even then, that will be in question."

"Garnier," he said softly. "My name is Charles Garnier."

I stared at him in shock, my mind suddenly remembering who he was. He'd built the theater...Erik's home...

The door opened behind me, and I felt Erik step out beside me.

"Monsieur Garnier," he said politely. "May I ask what in the hell you are doing here?"

The man took a moment to recover...obviously he was shocked by the sight of the half mask. If Erik hadn't worn it before, then no doubt it was as odd for him to see his face as it had been for me.

"I have...I have come about the library," he said finally. "I am one of the men who will approve the architect that ultimately builds it."

Erik's mouth tightened, and his eyes began to lose its light. He looked as if he were about to receive seriously bad news. "I see," he said stiffly. "Then you must come inside, Monsieur Garnier. We will have many things to discuss."

Erik took my arm and led me with him into the work room. I had thought he would want to discuss things in private, but he assisted me into a chair then turned to close the doors behind Garnier.

Assuming his place behind the desk, he looked very much lord of his manor.

"And what is it, monsieur," he said quietly, "that was so important you just had to find me, and force me to lose an apprentice in the process?"

"Lose your apprentice? Why on earth would you release him from duties?" Garnier asked, sounding suspicious. "He didn't tell me who you were, and I didn't tell anyone else. I did tell him I needed to speak with you, and you alone. He warned me that I would never get past the front door, but it appears he was mistaken."

"So it would seem. I would assume, as before, you took one look at my designs and discovered my identity?" he said, finally sitting down. "What do you want?"

The man hesitated, looking at me for a moment, then back to Erik. "I'm going to approve your commission for the library. I don't think you've been doing this long...I do know where you have been the last few years...thank you for burning my theater down, by the way," he said, glaring at Erik.

Erik's eyes widened, "You're going to approve it? After what I did?"

"Oh, yes," Garnier said softly. "I'm going to approve it. You are the only one qualified for the library. I loved the design, as did the rest of the board members. The fact that you chose to remain anonymous only increased their interest further, although they were reluctant to approve it because of public speculation."

Erik narrowed his eyes, leaning forward slightly. "Why do I have the feeling there is a string attached to your news?"

"Because there is one," Garnier said bluntly. "The people I work for are interested in beautifying Paris. They want to ensure that no more atrocious buildings are put on our lovely streets...and that eyesores are torn down," he paused for a moment, looking at Erik defiantly. "Eyesores such as burned down theaters...like my theater."

"What does that have to do with me?" Erik muttered, looking at his desk. "I apologize for destroying it, but it isn't enough is it? You dedicated your entire life to its completion, and I have ruined it."

"You burned it down, and you will rebuild it for me."

"_What?"_

Erik stared at him with wide eyes. He glanced at me for a moment, then back at Garnier. I had sat up quickly at the news as well, intending to tell the man to leave...Erik was not going back to the theater. I would not allow it.

"I want you to rebuild it," he repeated slowly. "You owe it to me, Erik. I trusted you...I let you come onto the site because I had heard of your reputation, and I knew you were not a stone contractor. I let you do it because I was intrigued...and your money did not hurt, did it?" he chuckled a moment, "I knew you were taking materials and building something else...how could I not notice how much was being taken? I thought someone was stealing...and was surprised to discover it was you. I didn't say anything, because I knew you were building a home beneath the theater. And...I knew why."

Erik gaped at him, his face absolutely stunned. "You've known all this time?" he demanded. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

Garnier shrugged, "I had the most popular theater in the world. Why would I turn in my _Opera Ghost_? You made me a famous man, although the theater must take some of the credit. So, I will offer you the library, on the condition that you accept the theater's reconstruction. If I do not save it, it will be lost forever. They're going to tear it down, and I can only weep when I think of what will take its place."

"Why...why don't you do it?" Erik whispered, his eyes filling with apprehension. "It is your theater. Shouldn't that bring you some peace, to do it yourself?"

Garnier raised his hand slightly, and we could both see very clearly how badly it shook. "Permanently damage. I cannot draw again...and I know you are the one who stole my blueprints for the theater. I never needed them...and I knew you took them so no one would ever know about your home. It is another condition that I have...you are to seal every entrance...every last one. My theater will no longer be inhabited by a ghost, and so help me God, if you don't do it, or destroy it ever again, I will make sure you never get a commission in this town, or any other town."

* * *

There you are, my lovlies. Sorry it has taken so long...my muse hit me this morning in the shower of all places. It just took her a little longer than most days. I'll try to keep her awake for the remainder of the day...she's always so sleepy... 


	48. Early Morning Passion

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I stared at Charles Garnier in disbelief. And sudden, unexpected rage.

"You will ruin me, before I've even begun?" I said with pure venom in my voice. "I have finally...finally managed to do something with my life, and you are going to ruin it for me?"

"No," he said calmly. "I'm going to help you. Building the theater will only help establish your reputation. It will be a few years before it can be accomplished...money must be raised for this sort of thing, you know. But in the meantime, you will have the library, and your reputation will grow. Other jobs will come along. If you have enough crews, you can manage to oversee them all, and you won't have to be present during construction as you were for the theater last time."

I merely stared at him, holding my hand up to silence Laure when she started to speak.

"The theater has many unhappy memories for me," I said quietly. "I don't know if I'm prepared to...to face the past like that. I would simply rather forget."

Each stone had been a wall of my cell. Each inch of floor a place I groveled on until I was numb with grief, and begging for God's mercy. I had been the loneliest man in the world inside the theater.

I never wanted to go back..._and yet_...rebuilding it would be something that would establish my reputation. And I could seal the entrances...all of them...and remove the traps I'd laid in place below the stage. I could make it impossible to penetrate...and the dungeon would forever be behind me. The foundation, of course, would need considerable repair. There was always a chance that it was not possible to rebuild after all.

And I very much wanted that library...

"What if I just gave you the plans?" I asked with increasingly failing resentment. "The originals...as well as what I think it would take to rebuild..."

He was already shaking his head. "No one knows that place like you and I, Erik. No one is suitable to oversee the reconstruction. I would rather have it torn to the ground than...than anyone else do it."

I felt a surge of embarrassment at his indirect praise. He was giving me a compliment, although I wasn't sure it was intentional.

I looked at Laure then, and saw her smile slightly. She nodded her head, "I think you should do it," she said softly. "I will be with you every step of the way. No painful memories...I will not allow them to interfere."

Glancing back at Garnier, who was staring at me expectantly, I finally relented to his unorthodox demands.

It seemed I had gotten my second commission.

* * *

Robert came in that evening, his head hung so low to his chest I thought he might simply lose it if it weren't attached.

"Monsieur Sagesse," he whispered, unable to look at me. "I...I know I have done something unforgivable. It was one of your rules...they were not to know you, or where you lived. I have betrayed your confidence. I wanted to apologize in person."

"Look at me," I said quietly.

He finally did, looking like a child about to be punished severely.

"Sir?" he said softly, his eyes unwavering as he stared at me.

"You are not fired," I said firmly. "You did nothing wrong. Garnier knew who I was...and I have no doubt you were in _awe _of the man, and he used it against you, didn't he?"

He nodded pathetically. "I only told him where you lived, monsieur. I didn't tell him anything else...," he paused, and swallowed hard. "He...he asked about the...the..."

"The mask?" I offered, and he nodded again.

"He knew, and I didn't say anything. I was simply speechless."

An annoying habit of his. I hoped one day he would be less of a nuisance, although he was a more than adequate apprentice. Jules had chosen well.

"We will begin construction on the library in a month's time," I said quietly. "You may use the time however you please...build the boat and boathouse with Nicolas, if you like. I earned the commission for reconstruction of Garnier's theater. Once the library is underway, we will begin planning it. The theater was enormous, I'm sure you've seen it. Construction will not begin for several years...in the meantime we will have to look over the old designs and decide what must be done. I will have you see to finding proper crews...and since the theater will not be the only thing I work on...we will have multiple crews for the other projects that will surely come along. Can you handle such tasks?" I demanded.

"Yes, Sir," he said, his face breaking into a smile. "I will do my best."

"See that you do. You are excused, Monsieur Morse. Have a pleasant vacation, if I should not see you for a month."

He left, clearly relieved that his career had not ended...and probably relieved that his employer wasn't going to turn out to be a failure. I simply could not believe the luck I had had recently. And tomorrow I fully expected a horde of Halvdan's to descend on the house.

The image of ants, roaches, and rats had not quite left me. I hoped they were not disappointed in me...or me in them.

* * *

I woke beside my very naked wife the next morning, enjoying the sight of her in the mirror above me. The blankets had somehow managed to all end up on top of me, and she lay peacefully on her side, one hand curled around her growing stomach. Her soft hair was spread behind her, a smile on her lips. It was awhile before I ever looked at her eyes, and saw she was watching me as well.

She moved closer to me and slid beneath the blankets, cold hands and feet instantly seeking out my warmth. Instead of resisting her, I turned and wrapped my arms around her, heating her chilled flesh with my hands, blowing softly against her neck and delighting in the sounds of pleasure that she made.

My hand moved down to her stomach, touching the place where our life grew together. I could not get enough of her like this. She was more than beautiful...ethereal...exquisite.

_Mine._

"Good morning," she finally whispered, running her hands across my chest. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did."

Her hands were moving lower, and I allowed her what she wanted. I was more than ready to do the same thing I had done with her last night.

"I love you," she said softly, before I could ask. "I love you, Erik."

Moving over her, and careful not to press against her stomach, I found her center. She was ready as well. "I love you," I whispered, then began bringing her pleasure.

I could tell she felt cumbersome and heavy beneath me, but it didn't stop her from crying out with pleasure, and giving me all she had. She was a passionate woman, my wife. Very passionate, always feisty...I was very much in love with her.

I made love to her slowly, not wanting to make her breathless all at once, and wanting to revel in her beauty and fire. I knew though, she was not going to last as long as I.

My tenderness had stolen her reserve, and she pitched over the edge with hoarse cries against my neck, her legs locking tightly around me, and her body arching from the bed.

Laying her back down I worked harder at my own pleasure, desire surging through me with each whisper she laid in my ear, with the feel of her nails on my back, and heels on my thighs. My mouth found her breast and I roughly took her nipple, enjoying the fuller version of Laure's body. She was fuller...everywhere...and this was most especially nice.

I felt the rush inside suddenly as she said something particularly shocking in my ear, and I grunted at the fierce image that she brought in my mind.

"Yes," Laure whispered, sensing how close I was. "Come to me, Erik. Love me."

"_Ah." _

It seemed to be the only thing I could say, although groans and other gruff noises were coming out of me as well. I thrust against her and held inside deeply, releasing early morning passion and finally...finally...she followed me again.


	49. The Old Man and the Mask

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

They arrived just after breakfast. There were ten of them in all, seven adults and three children. Erik was in his study...he'd gone there as they had knocked on the door, and they all stared at me expectantly, as if I was hiding him behind my large stomach, or perhaps inside my skirts.

The older gentleman was easily identifiable, and I was most certainly glad to see him, although he was scowling fiercely. A younger woman stood beside him, perhaps close in age to my own mother, and I assumed this was Charles's sister, Kathryn Careux.

"Well, where is he?" Joren Halvdan demanded, looking irritated. His accent was hard to understand...I wasn't sure I had ever heard French spoken with a Danish flourish. "I don't appreciate being summoned, young lady. I'm eighty nine years old. Too damned old to be traveling all around the country, and too damned tired to stand on my feet another moment. Take me to him!"

"Papa," his daughter scolded, and I smiled at her, seeing the green eyes I was so familiar with. "Don't get riled up. You know what it does to your heart."

"Don't tell me what to do, you little snippet," he shot back, "now, I want to see Charles's son. I've waited...waited...," he appeared a bit breathless, and I went to his side in concern.

"Come with me," I murmured gently, placing my arm around his back. He had been a tall man at some point, but age had made him shorter, and he moved with a slow but steady pace. "Erik is waiting for you."

His trembling sigh was all the answer I needed. They wanted him...and they would not berate him for the mask. They already knew about it, and hopefully would all see past the cold facade to the living, beating heart that was beneath. Kathryn followed, smiling at me gratefully when I turned to look at her. I knew that this woman was going to be special to him...she merely looked like she was lit up from the inside.

And I was right. As soon as we entered, and they all came in behind me, she sought him out. Not waiting for an introduction...and not waiting for him to even rise from his chair...she went to him and placed her arms around him. His eyes met mine for a moment, and he hesitantly hugged her back.

"I finally meet you," she whispered. "Charles...you look like Charles."

Erik swallowed visibly, struggling to rise under the weight of his aunt. He looked at them all in stunned silence, taking in the two people who were our own age, and three children who stared at him with wide eyes.

"A...a pleasure to meet you," he said softly, drawing his face away from hers. "Am I to assume you are Kathryn Careux?"

"Aunt Kathryn," she corrected automatically. "And this...," she gestured to a broad shouldered older gentleman, "...is my husband Marcus. And our daughter Elise," she pointed to a slender dark haired woman who was clearly more pregnant than I, "her husband Alfred, and their two children Angela and Cerise."

Alfred smiled briefly, although he appeared to be a humorless man, and two girls stepped forward with dark blond hair and enormous blue eyes.

"An honor," Erik said quietly, bowing to each of them. It made the children giggle until their father stepped forward to silence them.

"Our son, Charles, and his wife Aimee. And this is their son, Jeremie."

Nicolas moved from the corner of the room then, and all eyes turned to him. He seemed interested in the young cousin who was about his own age.

"Nicolas," Erik said, extending a hand to him.

Nicolas immediately stepped forward and took it, standing beside Erik and facing them all. We stood in uncomfortable silence for several moments, until I remembered the gruff old man at my side, who was staring at Erik in fascinated silence. When I shifted my weight, it seemed to startle him, and he moved forward to a chair to sit down. Erik looked at him cautiously, obviously knowing this was his directest link to his father. An elder...a man to be respected. The head of the household. I knew this man's approval was more important to him than any other.

And they continued to stare at one another, the old man unabashedly looking at the mask, and then at Nicolas. His eyes narrowed a moment, and he leaned forward in his chair.

"I'm your grandfather," he said bluntly. "And I'm in no mood for nonsense. I didn't come all this way to see a mask. I came to see Charles's son. Now take it off."

Erik's eyes widened, and his mouth slid open. He looked at me a moment, then back at Joren Halvdan.

"I assure you, with children present, it is not wise," he said carefully.

I stepped around to his side, instantly defensive that someone would demand him to remove it. Even his own grandfather. I would not allow them to hurt him.

"Are you refusing?" the old man demanded. "No one refuses me."

"Papa," Kathryn said firmly. "I told you this was not going to happen."

"You do not give me orders," he glared at her, then at Erik. "Take off the mask."

And I watched as his hand slid up slowly, and he did.

* * *

A short chapter, I know, but I plan on doing a POV switch...stay tuned... 


	50. An Uncommonly Stupid Woman

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

The old man should have irritated me. His command should have sent my head into a raging fire, and my heart into plummeting chaos. He stared at me from my own eyes...the eyes of my father...the eyes of the pleasant woman who had come in and embraced me. I had half been expecting it. For him to demand that I remove it...although not quite so soon. I had been prepared for it, but not at our first meeting.

Then he had said it, and I felt compelled to do so. I sensed that this was more about his dead son, than about me. About Charles. Not Erik. Yet, he continued to stare at me, his face showing no sign of distaste or disgust. The other people stared at me as well, but I only looked at the old man before me. Feeling slightly disrespectful for standing in his presence, I sank down in my chair behind the desk, allowing him to look at me freely.

Oddly I felt nothing. Except a bit of hope...

"Your mother," he finally said, "was an uncommonly stupid woman."

I lowered my head, breaking the gaze that had emitted a connection for a moment. Yes, she was. My troubled, uncertain lungs tried to work for me, but failed until I felt Laure touch the back of my neck. I looked up at her, seeing the concern and strain on her face. She was protective of me. I smiled briefly, reassuring her that I was not offended.

Not terribly so, anyway.

"So...," he said, grimacing as he shifted onto his chair better. "You are Erik. Tell me, Erik, how have you managed to do so well for yourself? Your mother assured me in her letter that you would only have dreams...that you would never amount to anything...so...what have you done with yourself?"

I smiled. At last, even if it was only a recent victory, I could tell someone that I had occupation.

"I'm an architect."

"Indeed?" his bushy gray eyebrows shot up. "Aren't we all?"

"You, Sir?" I asked quietly.

"Me, Charles...your cousin, not your father...Jeremie is aspiring to become one," he glanced at the young man about Nicolas's age. "What does he do?" he asked, pointing at Nicolas.

"I'm a naval architect," Nicolas said solidly, "and I am an apprentice for my father."

"Naval architect?" he snorted. "I don't see any boats around here."

"His grandfather is Vincent Bourne," I said softly, seeing the old man's eyes widen.

"Bourne? The one that built the ship that brought Napoleon home?" he asked, looking at Nicolas.

"The very same," Nicolas said, grinning suddenly. "And my father is going to rebuild the Opera Garnier, and the new Paris library."

Again, a surprised look on the man's face. I nodded my head when he looked at me expectantly. "Where are the plans?" he demanded.

"In my workroom," I replied calmly. "Would you like to see them later?"

"Yes, yes," he said, another grimace as he moved.

"Papa," Kathryn said quietly. "I think we should allow you to rest for awhile."

Amazingly he did not argue, and Laure summoned the maid to show them all to their rooms. Kathryn hugged me as she left, and her husband shook my hand, looking me in the eyes. The other two gentleman, who were around my own age nodded at me.

The two women, who were Kathryn's daughter and daughter in law smiled at me briefly before they left, and the two little girls all scurried out of the room, whispering to each other. Jeremie looked at Nicolas with disinterest for a moment, then Nicolas offered to show him the plans for the boathouse and boat he was building.

He agreed, and finally I was alone with my wife. I felt as if I had been picked up inside a typhoon, and tossed around mercilessly for hours, then sat back down in the eye of the storm. She picked up my mask and caressed the cool leather, looking at me for a moment.

"Are you alright?" she asked softly.

"I am," I whispered, taking her hands in mine and laying the mask aside. "I've never...never felt so confused in my life...but I'm alright."

She smiled and somehow managed to sit down on my leg. Her stomach prevented her from curling her legs up like she used to, and her body seemed to be terribly off balance. I placed my hand over the mound, loving the feel of it beneath my palm.

"It's nice to know there is someone more pregnant in this family than I am."

I stared at her, not understanding.

"You didn't see your cousin Elise? Very thin, except for the enormous weight of the child she carries?" she chuckled. "I only hope you do not notice me when I'm that large."

"I will always notice you," I murmured, "and I will only be happier the _larger _you get."

"Then you may feed me in bed," she whispered. "And I will feed you in other ways."

I sighed against her neck, one of relief and happiness. I was more than glad that the first meeting was over. Had I really counted ten people? Not as frightening as what I had pictured, although the idea of two couples our own age was appealing. How long they would stay, I did not know.

I wondered if any of them were musical.

"It's nice that your grandfather is still alive," Laure said quietly. "I was hoping it was him that replied to your letter, and not a namesake."

"He seems to be spoiled," I muttered, although I had hoped the same thing.

"And Kathryn looks to be a wonderful lady," she sighed, resting her head against my shoulder. "I was too confused to pay attention to the rest, although Alfred looked morose, and Charles seemed very...bland. Their wives seemed quiet as well, but I like Marcus. He seemed to be a direct and honest man."

I grunted...I had no idea who she was talking about. I wasn't certain about names...the only one I had been interested in at the time was Joren Halvdan. I wondered what I should call him.

"Grandfather?"

"I beg your pardon?" she raised her head to look at me, then around the room.

"What should I call him?"

"Say it again," she directed me.

"Grandfather."

"I like it," she smiled. "Perhaps you could go with Grandpa?"

"No," I shook my head, "that would sound ridiculous coming from me."

She smiled mischievously, "I'm going to make all of our grandchildren call you Grandpa Erik."

I felt my mouth twist into a reluctant smile. "Grandpa Erik?" I couldn't help but laugh. "I don't know...perhaps in another twenty years that won't sound so strange."

"Twenty?" she whispered, a gleam in her eyes. "Nicolas could very likely be a father within ten."

"I am going to forbid it," I said gravely. "I will not become a grandfather any younger than fifty years of age."

She frowned, "But that would make me a grandmother at forty six."

My eyes widened at the thought of her at age forty six. Laugh lines on her face, gray in her hair. My wife a grandmother...I might be reluctant to be a grandfather...but Laure as a grandmother caused my heart to tighten in my chest, and an insufficient supply of air to reach my lungs.

"You're thinking wickedly, aren't you?"

I summoned my best smile, and without the mask tried to look like I was flattering her. "Only a little, sweet wife. Only a little."


	51. A Meeting in the Hall

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Kathryn stopped me as I was heading to my room, a big smile on her face as she wrapped her arms around me. Feeling stunned, I hugged her back, although my stomach pressed into her and she became concerned that she'd injured me.

"I'm fine," I said reassuringly. "How is...Erik's grandfather?"

"Oh, he'll be alright," she waved her hands. "I don't think Papa will ever admit he's in pain, but he hasn't changed much in the last few years. Old age does that to you."

"My father's still active," I said, grinning, "he's probably close to your age...forty two, right?"

"Right," she laughed. "I'm forty two...and Marcus is a younger man...what a devilish woman I am!"

I laughed with her, finding this lady by far probably the nicest one in the entire group. Or as Erik had called them, _the horde_. He was still nervous, but I knew that this was something he wanted, and most definitely needed. I wanted to welcome them all, and get to know them as much as my own family. I didn't even have as much family as Erik did...those mysterious relatives from Ireland had never been people I really had a need to meet, but these Halvdans were an interesting group...or horde.

"Are there any musicians in the family?" I asked suddenly, wondering where my son and husband had acquired their talents. Obviously not from Madeline, although Marie had mentioned that she was a singer, though not professional.

Kathryn looked surprised for a moment, then laughed. "Oh, well, my mother was a singer at the Comique. That's how my father met her...and how my brother, Charles came to be, although most people don't know about that. They didn't marry immediately...most people don't know that either. And I believe my Grandfather Charbonneu was a composer, but I don't think he pursued it as a career. He did teach music at the University of Paris, until it became the Unversity of France. Why do you ask?"

Another music teacher. Surprise, surprise. I hoped by saying something, I wasn't giving away the fact that Erik was the Phantom of the Opera. He was dead, right? All he could do was deny it...although him working on the Garnier might be revealing.

I shrugged, "Well Erik and Nicolas are very talented...I just wondered where they got their skills. Me...I'm an artist as well. I paint-"

"You paint! Oh that's too good to be true! You must let me see some of your paintings sometime, or I'll try anyway. I used to paint all the time, but my eyes aren't what they used to be," she sighed, squinting at me a moment. "See? I can't see how beautiful my nephew's wife is. And how handsome he was."

"Oh, Erik's very handsome," I assured her. "A very handsome man."

"Madeline _was_ a stupid woman," she said quietly. "My father was right about that. Charles never should have married her. She was spoiled from day one...," she broke off abruptly, and gave me an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be discussing the dead like that. I'm just glad we've got to meet Erik." She gestured to the house grandly, "And to see how well he's done for himself. Did he build this? It's beautiful."

"No. But the man who built it worked for him long ago. Jules Bernard?"

"Oh, I think my son Charles knows Monsieur Bernard. Charles lives here in Paris, you know. He didn't even know we were coming to pick him up until this morning...I hope its okay if they stay here, and if we do as well. It makes things so much easier. They live all the way across the river..."

"You're more then welcome to stay. We really want to get to know-"

My heartfelt speech was cut off as two girls bolted past me, shrieking with laughter and nearly knocking me over.

"Sorry! Sorry!" They giggled as they ran past, covering their faces and running for their rooms.

Kathryn eyed them suspiciously, then looked at me. "Excuse me, Laure. I know those two miscreants are up to something. And thank you for letting us stay. I just hope we don't give your husband a reason to flee the country."

She hugged me again and chased after the girls, and I smothered laughter with a cough.

Erik, flee the country over two mischievous girls? If they were half as bad as I had been as a child, even America might not be far enough for him to run. I only hoped the one I was carrying would remove the last of Erik's defenses, and keep them away forever.

There are just some things better done with the help of a child.

* * *

A short chapter, I know. I know. I'm trying to figure out the best way to end this...don't want to disappoint anyone. Oh, and I'm not sure if you're expecting lyrics for Erik and Laure's song...but I'm not a lyricist. I've thought about it alot, but I just don't think I could do it...so it will be descriptive song. Thank you for being patient, and I plan on writing another chapter for Erik later today.


	52. One at a Time

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

Joren Halvdan found me before dinner, leaning heavily on the arm of the grandson, Jeremie, that was about Nicolas's age. The boy made a move to sit down, and was dismissed immediately by the old man.

"Go find something to amuse yourself with," he said gruffly, bending painfully at the waist to sit across from my worktable. "And tell your Aunt Elise if she doesn't control those girls, I'll have them across my knee."

"Yes, Grandfather."

The boy retreated quickly from the room, pulling the doors closed behind him. Without asking I picked up the plans for the library and handed them to him, watching as he carefully looked at each draft page, and at the sketches that both Laure and I had done.

When looking at the detailed plans for the terrace he gave a short bark of laughter, then a harrumph. "You really think you can do all this on the side of that hill?"

"I am confident that I can, yes," I returned evenly. "What would you have done?"

"I'd have told them to build the damned thing somewhere else," he said with a humorless smile, handing me back the plans. "Which is precisely what Charles told them, and precisely why he didn't get the commission."

"Charles...your grandson, Charles?"

"Well, I think it might be hard for my son to accomplish it," he said quietly. "Considering he's been dead for thirty five years. Kathryn shouldn't have named her firstborn after him. That should have been your son's name, not hers."

"I wasn't around when Nicolas was born," I said softly. "I've only recently met my son...I didn't know he existed until a few months ago."

He looked stunned at my admission. "Why not?" he demanded.

"I met Laure in Persia, a very long time ago. I found out about Nicolas this year, and I married her immediately afterwards."

"Persia? Why in God's name would you go to such a place? Nothing but ruthless, cold-hearted people. I went once...I hated that place," he said, scowling. "Damned Persians."

I winced slightly, "Well, I have a friend living here that is from there. He's going to be joining us for dinner tonight. I hope you can be civil to him."

He harrumphed again, looking irritated. "You didn't answer me, boy. Why did you go to Persia?"

"I built a palace for the shah-in-shah." Among other things, but I didn't elaborate.

"You were in Persia how long ago? Fifteen years? You're telling me you were building palaces at age twenty?" he demanded again. "Didn't you apprentice with anyone?"

"I was barely nineteen when I arrived in Persia...and yes, I apprenticed for about a year with a man in Rome. His name was Giovanni," I said quietly. "He took me in when no one else would. Treated me like a son."

His eyes hardened, but he didn't remind me that I had a father. I didn't tell him that I had been so broken by my mother, that I hadn't really thought about Charles all that much. A few times I had wondered if it would have been the same, but Giovanni would always fill that place in my heart that Charles had not been able to. I could remember him now without guilt...without pain, although sometimes I still missed him so much I wanted to weep. The first person outside of Marie to show me any kindness. If it hadn't been for Giovanni's guidance I might have really become a monster. Persia could have been the starting point for a life of sadistic murder and cruelty, as I waged my hatred upon the perfect looking people of mankind.

Giovanni, Nadir, and Laure.

They had all saved me in one way or another...and I was most grateful for my wife for all that she had done. Without her, I would have nothing. I would be nothing.

Now I had more...Nicolas, her parents, and my own family. I hoped that despite this old man's gruffness, he would be an honorable man.

"Charles would have made a good father," he finally said, daring me to deny it. "He wouldn't have allowed Madeleine to do whatever she did to make you look like that."

I flinched, struggling to keep from snapping back at him. At least he was honest, and didn't tiptoe around it like everyone else. Even Laure.

"I don't think she did anything, Sir. I think it was a mistake-"

"God does not make mistakes!" he shouted, leaning halfway out of his chair.

"Then it was on purpose!" I yelled back. "Damn you, does it matter that much? If it does, then get out, I don't need you! I don't need anyone but my wife, and my children."

"I just...I just wanted you to look like him," he said bitterly, sitting back down. "Charles was my firstborn. My only son. And you're all I have."

"Well, Nicolas is my son, and I'm told he looks a great deal like me," I bit off, glaring at him. "So you have what you want. A living, breathing replica of your dead son."

"I don't want him...I wanted you."

Exasperated, I sat down across from him. "Look...," I removed the mask and set it on my knee. "I'm not getting any younger, and certainly not getting any better looking. I'm not Charles. Nicolas is not Charles. He's dead. Madeleine is dead. From what I understand, _her_ family is dead. If this," I pointed at my face, "is unacceptable, then you're not obligated to stay. I've made peace with it...my wife and son can look at me, and see me, not the mask, and not this abomination that I've hated my entire life. If you can't, then you're free to leave. I don't need you...I would like it very much if you stayed, but I've come to realize I've gotten about as much luck out of this life as I ever wanted."

Joren lowered his eyes for a moment, looking at the mask, then back at me.

"It doesn't matter," he said quietly. "It's never mattered...I just thought that Madeleine did that to you. She was a selfish girl. I never understood what Charles wanted with her."

"These aren't inflicted wounds," I said slowly. "She was cruel, but she didn't do this to me."

"Did she...did she beat you?" he asked, his eyes on the mask again.

"Not often, and I usually provoked her into doing it. She was nothing compared to the other beatings I've taken over the years. It didn't take me long to learn that if I wanted to survive, I had to fight back. I'm not what you would call an innocent man...but I've tried not to hurt innocent people. That hasn't always worked the way I wanted...but I've settled down now. I have a family. The acquisition of the library and opera commission will ensure I'm occupied for the next few years." He hopefully wouldn't make a connection between the theater and the masked ghost, but he actually was listening, instead of looking as if he wanted to order me to do something. "Would you like to see the original blueprints for the theater?"

"Yes, yes. I met Garnier once...a strange fellow. A bit young for the theater, if you ask me."

I didn't say that I was younger than Garnier, and had built most of it myself. I handed him the original plans, showing him what would have to be completely redone, and what we would keep. The theater itself would stay. The dormitories and apartments, as well as the stable would all have to go.

I planned on appointing Robert as supervisor so I could spend as little amount of time there as possible, although I planned on having Nicolas help me seal all the passages well before construction began.

"If it weren't for the inside, I would tell them that it isn't worth rebuilding," he muttered.

Those had been my thoughts the first time I had seen the plans. It would be a monstrous, ugly behemoth on the outside, but the inside would be breathtaking.

"Did you ever attend?" I asked, suddenly curious if we might have ever crossed paths.

"Once or twice," he sighed. "My wife was a singer at the Comique, you know. A beautiful soprano. Once she died, I really had no interest in hearing another woman singing."

The irony didn't escape me. No, indeed it did not.

"What was her name?" I asked softly. "She was lead, correct?"

"Oh yes. Arabella Charbonneu. She was beautiful...talented. Her father was Professor Gregoire Charbonneu at the University of Paris. Musical theory and application. A bit eccentric, but I believe he was a magnificent and unambitious composer. They say he went mad...fooling around with one of those glass harmonicas. He died right before I married Arabella," he said, giving a slight laugh. "Arabella tried to sell his musical scores once or twice, but no one would take them. The reason he'd been fired when management of the Universities changed under Napoleon was because they were said to be too graphic...too sensual."

More irony. A music teacher who wrote shocking music.

"My mother was a singer," I said quietly.

He snorted. "Your mother had nothing on Arabella. She could make the night light up. Lift your soul so high it would feel heaven."

"Do you still have the scores?"

"Why?" he asked suspiciously.

"I have done some composing from time to time," I said carelessly. "Nicolas is wonderful with a violin. I've been known to play myself."

"I'll see if I can find them," he said grudgingly. "Arabella had some songs as well. If you have the time, I should like to hear you both play before I leave."

Thinking of Laure, and my promised song to her, I said that I would try.

I had family...history...

Musicians and architects. Two things I had delved in, unaware of how much my family had been shaped by them. Nicolas as well, had never known I played the first time he picked up an instrument. It had been later that he found that out about me.

Something in the blood, driving us to play, to compose. To make music, to hear its call and touch other people with it. I prayed for just one...just one child that would make music and reach the world. And through them, I would start my legacy. A legacy of music. A family with pride and history, of music and architecture. A family that would change the world.

One note at a time. One building at a time.

* * *

It sounds as if its over, but its not. I'll keep updating when I have the chance. 


	53. No Words Necessary

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

If someone had told me on my wedding day that Erik would have family, and we would be sitting around a table with them having dinner, I would have laughed. If they had told me my husband would actually be conversing with perfect strangers, I would have declared them insane.

Yet we were, and he was.

Although it was mainly Kathryn, Joren, and Marcus who were speaking to him. The others weren't ignoring him by any means, but were merely listening and laughing along with their grandfather at the stories he was telling about Arabella Charbonneau. Apparently she had been quite an interesting woman, with a past more colorful than anyone else's grandmother I knew.

"And by the time the public had figured out she wasn't quite the vestal virgin she'd claimed to be, half the men in Paris loved her, and all the woman wanted to be her. But I won her hand," Joren said proudly, chuckling slightly. "although that was never in question. We'd been together for years, in secret of course. My wife wouldn't have appreciated my indiscretions, and God forgive me died believing I was a saint. I never wanted Bella to give up the stage though. She did that in her own time, and believe me there was an outcry from the city of Paris like nothing I'd ever heard before. They all blamed me, of course, but I was merely happy to take my lady to Rouen so we could marry. Charles was already three at the time, although he wouldn't have wanted anyone to know he'd been born under such...unusual circumstances."

We all laughed, and I caught Erik's eye, giving him a wide smile. He had relinquished his role at the head of the table, giving it to Joren, and he sat across from me with a look of almost disbelief on his face.

He was finding it as hard to comprehend as I was, at the strange acceptance his family had given us all. Most especially him, although I had hoped for it.

"Erik told me you met in Persia," Joren said, wiping at a tear of laughter that had escaped his eyes. "How did _you_ end up there, Laure?"

I opened my mouth, then shut it again, giving Erik a pleading look. He looked nearly as mortified as I felt at the innocent question, and I wondered how I could explain _anything_ about my involvement there. Just about everything about it was going to sound horribly embarrassing.

"They met in a harem," Nicolas supplied, giving me a sheepish look when I whipped around to face him. "My mother was an odalisque."

"O-_odalisque_?" Kathryn repeated, looking at me with wide eyes. She then turned to the children around the table, who were all watching as well. No doubt most of them didn't know what a harem was, although Jeremie was looking rather uncomfortable.

"It's...it's a fancy term for chambermaid," Erik said finally, giving me a dry look. "Laure was kidnapped when she was young, and served the shah's _mother_. I aided in her escape from Persia."

Chambermaid? I had always thought of it as slave. I had been a _slave. _I had been _sold._ Only the gift from the man across from me had ever prevented me from feeling degraded by my time there. Only the connection I had felt with him, and the fact that he had been just as innocent as I was.

Joren cleared his throat several times, then raised his brows. "And I thought my marriage had been interesting."

The tension around the table broke, and I even managed to laugh with them, although a stern look at Nicolas ensured he wouldn't be revealing anymore about me, or Persia.

"And how did you fit into this?" Kathryn asked, looking at Nadir, who had tried to avoid conversation all night with them.

No doubt he found it strange to be surrounded by so many Europeans, and children all at once. I thought about what Erik had said about his wife and child, and felt sorrow for the man who hadn't ever tried to fall in love again. He was still young enough, and for a man of foreign origin, he was not altogether unappealing to look at.

I would never admit that to Erik, or to anyone else, but I did think he needed to find another woman...and not one he paid.

"I was the police commissioner," Nadir said quietly. "I was in charge of Erik-"

Erik snorted rather loudly. "It was your position...that does not mean you were adept at it."

"...and I helped _him_ escape when the time came," he finished, giving Erik a baleful look. "You might say I've held that over his head the last decade."

"You're from Corsica, Laure?" Joren demanded, "And Vincent Bourne is your father?"

"Yes," I murmured, speaking for the first time that night. "They should be returning here to Paris any day. We've all left the island, to allow Erik to pursue architecture fully, and to be closer to Nicolas when he goes to England to build his boats."

"Boats?" Nicolas repeated, leaning around several family members to look at me. "Don't you mean ships, Mother?"

"Ships," I corrected, giving him a smile. "When he leaves to build ships. Nicolas has already had commissions. Erik has the first one he ever designed and built though. It's a cutter, and is at the harbor in Marseilles right now, unless my father has taken it to retrieve their belongings."

"So you're new to architecture?" Charles asked darkly, looking at Erik. "I submitted my designs for the library, but it appears they liked yours better."

Erik merely smiled, saying nothing about Garnier and his well intentioned extortion. "I took a brief retirement," he said reluctantly. "And I've never worked in Paris before. Or in France for that matter."

Charles seemed to accept this, although I wondered if it galled him badly to be in the presence of the winner of the commission. I gave Erik a reproachful look at the sudden arrogant look on his face, although secretly I was thrilled for him. It was a wonderful stroke to his ego, to meet someone who had lost to him.

Wonderful, and I smiled inwardly even as Charles Careux scowled.

* * *

Erik pushed me into his study after dinner as our guests made their way to the parlor. I didn't ask questions as he gave me an aggressive kiss, and he pinned me to the wall, groping frantically at me for several moments. He left me breathless as his mouth moved over my throat, and his thumb caressed my breast through my gown. His eyes met mine, feral, and quite full of conceit. 

"Careful," I advised him with a gasp, "any more confidence and I think your head might swell."

"Too late," he murmured suggestively, pressing his body against mine.

"That wasn't what I meant."

He laughed for a moment, then gave me a serious look. "I have to ask you something," he whispered against my ear, reluctantly pushing away from me, and resting his cheek against mine.

"Yes?"

"Would you go to the Louvre with me?"

"What?" I asked, pushing at his shoulders until he looked at me. "You have to ask?"

He shrugged his shoulders slightly. "I asked you right after we married, and haven't even attempted to do anything a normal husband does for his wife. And...I would like to take you during their normal business hours."

I met his eye, giving his chest a resounding thump. "You don't have to ask as if you're going to face the gallows, Erik. And we've gone shopping together...twice. We take walks nearly every day." I kissed him soundly, until his body had lost its rigidity. "We make love every night...sometimes twice...and nearly every morning. You make me happy. You please me, in the bedroom, and out. I would love to go to the Louvre with you. I would go _anywhere_ with you."

He smiled slightly, then pressed a kiss to my temple. "Do you think the others would want to go?"

"Of course," I said softly. "They'd love to."

I had no idea, really, but I suspected he did this as a test for them, and for himself. To see how they reacted in public with him around, and to see if he could tolerate being scrutinized by strangers, even surrounded by people who loved him. I would definately make sure Kathryn went, and Marcus as well.

"Then we shall ask them," Erik whispered, although it sounded as if he were secretly terrified. "Now," he cleared his throat, "we should join them, otherwise they'll think we've disappeared for less than innocent reasons. I have a surprise for you tonight."

"A surprise?" I echoed, immediately curious. "What sort of surprise?"

He gave me a solemn look, "If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise. But I promise you will like it."

With another kiss, that I felt must have been to reassure me, as much as himself, he pulled me out of the study and down the hall. He paused outside the door of the parlor, peering inside and blocking my view before he allowed me to follow him.

One glance at Nicolas, and I knew what my surprise was. Eagerly I sat down next to Joren, who patted my hand and gave me a warm smile.

"It's a treat for me as well," he murmured. "Arabella was a magnificent singer, and her father was a musician. To hear these two play...well...I think if I die tonight, I will die happy."

"Don't even consider it," I said, giving his hand a squeeze. "There may be yet another musician in this family, and you should stay around to hear them play."

I looked at Erik then, seeing him positioned near the hearth with the violin beneath his chin, and Nicolas standing beside him, a look of bliss on his face. Bliss and embarrassement, which honestly they both displayed. Erik met my eyes for a moment, then nodded at me. Without hesitation, he lifted the bow to the strings, striking it with deftness and beauty, and instantly filling my soul with his music. Nicolas joined in a half second later, and he completed his wedding day promise, making my heart weep, and my eyes, and the heart of every other member in the room.

The sweet, aching beauty of the song carried me away, and the expression of passion on Erik's face as he played tugged him deeper and deeper into my heart. He was beauty. He was magnificent, my husband. A true master, and it made me love him all the more that he possessed such depth and emotion for his music. Nicolas as well was, as always, wonderful. The sight of the two of them strenghtened my belief that they would have an unbreakable bond. Each day brought them closer together, and brought Erik closer as well to shedding the last tainted coat of his past, and to embrace his future.

And suddenly, I felt something brush against me. Actually...inside me. Not in my heart, or even my soul, although I suspected instantly it was the soul of another. A fluttering sensation, like the tips of a butterflies wings beating within me. I felt it, and instantly knew my child. Already I had loved him or her...and now I knew them. As if he sensed a miracle had occured, Erik looked at me. Our child had heard his father's music, and his brother's music, and they were listening. I smoothed my hand over my stomach and glanced down meaningfully, seeing Erik's eyes widen for a moment then closing them swiftly to finish the song.

It was beautiful. The most beautiful and enchanting music I had ever heard. His music touched me in a way that invoked love, and passion, and desire. I felt it in every breath, in every heartbeat. In every magical note. When the last sweet strains of the violin faded, and he raised his green eyes to mine, I saw at once the love and fire in the depths. A completeness. A wholeness that I had never seen before.

He said nothing...and for once he didn't need to.

* * *

Is it over? I'll let you decide. I could include their trip to the Louvre, or a couple of other things that are floating around in my mind. Sorry it's taken so long, things have been hectic. Hope you enjoyed this story, and I'll take feedback to determine whether or not it's over. If it is, I am eager to work on Erik and Susanna's story. If not, I can include maybe one more chapter. Your decision. 


	54. No Longer a Phantom

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_June...Epilogue_

_Erik_

As accursedly hot as it was today, construction was going well. I watch the men from my perch at the top of the hill as they level out land for the terraces, and the others as they haul the stone from the quarry. Robert runs around the site in constant agitation, taking care of a million details that I would rather not do. He exhausts himself each day, and as much as I have told him to slow down, it only seems to drive him further to the point of collapse to finish this library.

The months since my wedding have flown by in a whirlwind. Each day I have watched my wife and son with love and laughter in their eyes. Each day I have learned something new about each of them, and fallen deeper under their spell. Laure can smile at me, no matter what my mood, and simply lighten and brighten my day. If some setback has happened at the library, and I feel as if it would be more effective to fire the entire crew than continue working with them, she eases my mind with a simple touch. Provides me encouragement when I need it most, and tells me she loves me no matter what. Those men should be grateful to Laure, because she has saved them from constant unemployment.

Nicolas has surprised me at every turn, and is still adamant about going to England, although he has learned everything he needs to about my craft. I cannot fault him for his dream...he is every hope and promise I ever had or made about myself, and every wish I ever had for greatness. He will live his dream, and I will be proud to call this young man my son.

No longer do I hide in shadow. No longer does depression and despair plague me. I have more than I possibly ever dreamed of, with my wife and son, and the subsequent arrival of the Halvdan and Careux families. Joren continues to be the most ornery old man I have ever met, and does his best at times to rile my temper. And he and Vincent mix about as well as chocolate and vinegar.

I still am wary about being seen in public, I suspect I will always be fearful of strangers staring at me, and suspecting they might cast me into another cage. I never go alone. It's as if my wife senses my need to have someone beside me, and after the trip to the Louvre several months ago, I feel as if when my family is around me, nothing is impossible.

The theater hasn't been without interest as well. Cleanup has continued, and Garnier has assured me that by the time construction is ready to start the city of Paris will be clamoring to meet the architect who is rebuilding their beloved monument. I told him if he breathed a word about me, I would not hesitate to raze every column to the ground, and let him find someone else. He chuckles, and gives me peace by saying he would rather them remember him than me anyway. The situation is suitable for me, as I have no desire to become a public icon, especially one that is associated to the theater. And as highly ironic, and slightly amusing as it is to be rebuilding what I destroyed...there is still a streak of mockery existing in this heart of mine...I still have not set foot on the property. When I do so, it will be to seal the entrances to my lair, and nothing more.

"Father, weren't you returning home?" Nicolas asks, and I turn to see him standing behind me, wiping his sweating face against his sleeve.

"Yes. I just wanted to have a look. What is your task today?"

"I'm working with the land architects...learning about soil properties and how to level it to suit the building. I never knew there was so much to learn: load bearing capacity, soil type, erosion potential. How do you keep track of all this information?"

Smiling wryly, I tap the side of my head. "There is twenty years of knowledge swimming around in here. Don't expect to learn it all in a few months, Nicolas."

His eyes moved beyond me, and he lifted his hand to point across the valley. "Grandfather is here."

I turned my head sharply, seeing Vincent waving frantically from my carriage, with Darius at the reins. My heart stopped beating for a moment as I looked at him, unable to see whether it was panic on his features, or something else.

"Do you think...the baby...?" Nicolas whispered behind me.

Immediately I reached for the reins of the gray stallion and mounted, leaving Nicolas alone at the top of the hill. I was never more glad for the responsive beast, glad we had finally come to an understanding between horse and master as he raced down the hill, disrupting men carrying equipment as his hooves thundered over the earth. Vincent was leaning out the carriage door when I arrived, a beatific smile on his face.

"She's started, Erik," he said, looking quite pleased. "You might want to rush on home now. She's waiting for you."

I didn't stop and wait to see if Nicolas was following. I dug my heels into the horse and ran him hard with my heart pounding the entire way home. Laure...the baby. She was giving birth to my child, and I wasn't there.

Nadir was standing at the entrance, a stoic expression on his face as he watched me drop from the horse and stride to the door. I left the horse for him to deal with, saying something about making himself useful. I might have said nothing, I was in such a panic that it was hard merely to breathe as I climbed the stairs to our bedroom. I couldn't hear anything from within the room, and I pushed the door open in sudden fear. Shouldn't there have been screaming? Laure had promised that she would be screaming, and I would know from a mile away if she had begun labor.

"Is that Erik?" I heard her ask, and moved forward through the sitting room until I could see her.

She was sitting in the bed, her mother pressing a towel over her face and Kathryn sitting on her other side. Kathryn and Marcus had been at their son Charles's on the other side of Paris for the last two weeks, and she had visited Laure almost every day.

"I'm here," I whispered, and wasn't sure she heard me until her eyes looked up. I saw peace and love on her radiant face...or perhaps it was merely sweat. There couldn't have been a more miserable day to have a child on, but since she had given birth to Nicolas in June as well, I suspected she already knew.

"Good," Clare said, beckoning me closer. She nearly pushed me on the bed beside Laure and pressed a cloth into my hand. "Keep her cool. I have a million things to do right now until the doctor arrives."

"The doctor isn't here?" I demanded, looking at Laure in concern. "Why?"

"It's alright," she murmured. "These things take a long awhile. There's plenty of time...hours even."

"Hours?" I repeated, looking at her in concern. "My God, it's far too hot in here for you to suffer that long."

She closed her eyes as I bathed her face, smiling at me in her misery. "You think this is bad? You should have been in Corsica in June...I think it was twice as hot when I gave birth to Nicolas."

My hand reached out and touched her stomach, feeling the child kicking restlessly against my hand. It awed me each time, to see it moving, to feel it. The first time, I think I had been sleeping with Laure's stomach pressed to mine, and felt the oddest rolling sensation between our bodies. The sight of her stomach moving had nearly sent me into a bout of weeping. Now, she was quite swollen and uncomfortable, and no amount of apologies would take away what I had done to her.

Either time.

But she didn't seem to mind...and the edge and spitefulness she had promised me during her pregnancy had not been as rampant. She was forgetful, and slightly irritable, but nothing like what she had described with Nicolas. Not to me, anyway. I did feel sorry for Clare though.

Trying to make her more comfortable I opened the windows and tried to allow a breeze inside the house. When that didn't work, I ordered the maid to run out and purchase a large fan, and made her stand at her bedside and wave it towards her. Laure protested, but I was determined to make her feel better. By the time the doctor arrived, she no longer cared, and had been in the midst of labor pains for nearly three hours.

Sweating and groaning, she refused to allow me to leave her side. The doctor protested, saying it was highly unusual for a husband to remain at his wife's side during the birthing process, but she was adamant that I stay, although at times I would have rather been anywhere else than listening to her in such pain.

"I'm never putting you through this again," I promised, ignoring the smile the doctor had suddenly given me. I felt rather uncomfortable with the fact that the man was seeing more of my wife than I possibly had, but I kept to my side of the sheet, content to allow that part of her to remain a mystery. After seeing the birth of everything from horses to dogs, I was quite sure I didn't want to see it.

Laure squeezed my hand tightly each time a pain rolled through her, rising off the bed in agony and in what I deemed as involuntary contractions. They ripped through her, and she scratched at my hand, clenching me in knuckle-white exhaustion.

"You're doing fine," I murmured, and she nodded at me, unable to speak. Her eyes met mine, and I saw the love for me there, still shining brightly despite the pain I was causing her. "I love you, Laure. You're going to be fine."

I felt as if I spoke lies. If she was anything other than fine, they would need to shoot me and put me out of my misery. Fear...the sort of fear that had driven me from Corsica to Paris to search for Nicolas had wrapped itself around my heart. My wife and child...they _had_ to be perfect and healthy.

"Three more, Madame Sagesse, and you should be able to meet your child," the doctor said sagely. "Now...push!"

She did, looking up at the now bare ceiling as if by meeting heaven halfway would put an end to her trials. I had removed the mirror at her insistence...ironic that she had not wanted to see herself as she gave birth.

She pushed again, and I heard the doctor mentioning something about the head. I nearly collapsed, and for some reason looked at the maid, seeing her expression was one of wonder. They had to be perfect...I prayed it would not look like me.

"One more..."

Laure fell back against the bed for a moment, closing her eyes then garnering strength. She raised again and pushed, squeezing my hand tighter than before, and suddenly I heard the protesting of an infant. The powerful voice stirred me. It reached inside and pulled at my heart, and I was only given a brief glimpse of a red, squalling baby before the doctor's nurse turned away to wrap it and wipe away the remnants of birth.

"Congratulations," the nurse said softly, moving towards us both with a bundle of unhappiness and rage. "You have a daughter."

She laid her in Laure's arms, and Laure moved the blanket aside as I caught my first look at my daughter's face. Tears welled so suddenly I could not see, and through the haze I saw the perfection she was. Not a thing...not one single thing hideous or deformed on her precious face.

"Oh, God," I whispered, and felt afraid to even touch her. How could someone so small ever survive in the world? How had Nicolas ever grown? It was hard to imagine him as this size...at this stage of helplessness and vulnerability.

"Erik," Laure said loudly, over the screaming child between us, and I looked into her beautiful hazel eyes, watched as they shed tears of joy and happiness. "This is your daughter...this is...Arabella..."

My hands shook, but Laure was holding her out to me, insisting that I take her. The small body felt weightless in my hands. I could have held her with one, and had room for another. She was still crying, and when I touched her cheek, she seemed to become more frightened. More desperate to return to the warm haven of her mother's body.

"Arabella," I murmured, and suddenly all sound ceased within the room. I placed the tip of a finger against her small hand, and she clenched it tightly, her fingers looking absurdly tiny compared to mine. She stared up at me, her dark blue eyes looking into mine with a strange intensity. I felt my soul shatter, my throat ache, and the very last of darkness wither away under her radiant expression. She was mine...part of me. Part of Laure, and part of me. A sister to my son.

My daughter...My God, she was mine.

"Ours," Laure whispered, as if reading my thoughts. "She's ours, Erik."

I felt the fevering pitch of love, rocking against the insane calmness that possessed me. Ours. Laure and I, alone in the world...and we would raise our daughter together. We would care for this child...she would teach me everything I had missed with Nicolas. Selfishly, the regret I felt for her pain faded, and I knew that given the chance, I would sacrifice my wife again to feel this way.

This love, this peace...this madness of another sort. Madness I had never known. The madness, my God, of being a father to a daughter. Of being a father to this helpless child who would depend on me, who would demand my affection and attention. My protection. Advice...I was getting ahead of myself, but I felt anger stir already on the day I would give her away.

Giving her back to her mother, with great reluctance, I sank back against the chair and watched my wife feed her. I heard the grunting, desperate noises she made, distantly realizing we were quite alone now. The room had been cleared to allow us a moment of privacy. Arabella slowly relaxed against Laure's breast, then she was switched to the opposite side.

My hand touched her dark hair, caressing her delicate scalp with my fingertips, drawing back in fear as I felt the indentation of a soft spot across the top. Laure caught my fearful gaze and smiled.

"It's perfectly normal. All children have that," she whispered.

"Normal...no. She's perfect. Beyond normal...she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen...excluding her mother, of course."

"Of course," Laure agreed wryly, content to allow me my sanity by not arguing. "What do you think, Erik? Of your two beautiful ladies?"

My throat ached from love, my heart felt as if it had raced away with my brain and tongue long ago. Somehow I managed to say, "I think you are perfection. My wife...my child. There is nothing to give me greater joy."

A soft knock on the door, and I saw Nicolas peer in cautiously. He would prove me wrong...the sight of them all together swelled inside me so tightly I could scarcely breath. There was no greater joy...and if there was, I was sure I couldn't possibly handle more. Laure modestly covered herself up as Nicolas took the still, attentive child.

"What's her name?" he asked softly, his hand stroking her cheek and her palm just as mine had.

"A...Arabella," I said, my throat rough and dry. "Her name is Arabella."

"Hello, Arabella," he said, a smile on his face. He looked suddenly very much a man as he held his sister. "My name is Erik Nicolas. I'm your big brother."

Laure's hand sought mine, and she mouthed words of love as I pressed a kiss to the back of it. The completeness of the moment was not lost on me. I was never more sure of my happiness...never more grateful for all I had gained. Months of love and trust had found such deep roots in my life,_ I _suddenly felt like a normal man. I knew for certain there was no other man happier than I was. No other man was as blessed, and it no longer mattered if I wore a mask or not. It no longer plagued my dreams, no longer haunted me. I was no longer a ghost.

I was a husband.

A father.

An architect.

I was many things...but one thing I had stopped being above all, was the Phantom.

* * *

Hope you all liked my story. This is the end...sorry if you wanted more, but I intend to start another one if I finish Susanna and Erik's story soon. I'll let you know. I'm leaving at the end of this week and going out of town, so my updates will not be as frequent. I write steadily from Thursday through Sunday, and I will be going home (yea!) for a few days and won't be in the vicinity of a computer during that time. Sorry...and hope you enjoyed this story. I hate endings...they are the hardest thing for me to write, so I hope you like how I ended this one. Let me know! 


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